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microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  availc.ble  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


0 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged  / 


Couverture  enaommagee 


□    Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
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Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

I I   Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  geogreohiques  en  couleur 

□    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

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Bound  with  other  material  / 
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Only  edition  available  / 
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Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion  along 
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I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge 
interieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  Use  peut  que  certaines  pages 
blanches  ajoutees  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  etait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  ete  filmees. 

Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  supplementaires: 


D 
D 
D 


D 


D 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
ete  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-etre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  m6tho- 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiques  ci-dessous. 

Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

I I    Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommagees 


D 


Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaurees  et/ou  pelliculees 


r—L'  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
l±_l   Pages  d6color6es,  tachetees  ou  piquees 

Pages  detached  /  Pages  detachees 

\yA  Showthrough  /  Transparence 

I      I    Quality  of  print  varies  / 


D 


Quality  in^gale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


I  J^ages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips, 
' — '  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  ete  filmees  a  nouveau  de  fagon  a 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


D 


Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  des 
colorations  variables  ou  des  decolorations  sont 
filmees  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 
possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below  / 

Ce  document  est  fllme  au  taux  de  reduction  indique  ci-dessous. 


lOx 

14x 

18x 

22x 

26x 

30x 

12x 


16x 


20x 


24x 


28x 


32x 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grace  d  la 
g^n^rositd  de: 


National   Library  of  Canada 


Bibliotheque  nationale  du  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6x6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
de  la  nettet*  de  l'exemplaire  film*,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
fiimage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  eech  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -^^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
pepier  est  imprimie  sont  filmds  en  commencant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmAs  en  commenqant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
derniire  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — •-  signifie  "A  SUIVRE ',  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  etre 
filmis  ^  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  etre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  film§  i  partir 
de  Tangle  sup^rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


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.les.sica's  l-ir.st  Prayer.    Hy  Hi'sha  Strcltoii. 
Laddie.     1!,\  t  Ih'  iinl  lior  nl  "  IMiss  'I'nuscy's  Mi.HHion." 
Little  Crii.saders.     I!y  K\m  Muildcu. 
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Miss  Toosey's  Mis.sion.     \\y  tin'  iiiKlinr  of  "Laddie." 
Mu.sical  Jtiurney  of  Dorothy  and  Delia. 

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Our  Uncle,  the  Major.     ASIory  dfirCp.').    liy  James  Otl.s. 
I'air  of  Them  (A).     Hy  Kvrlyn  {{nymonil. 
Playground  Toni.    Uy  .\iinii  ('liii|)lii  Uiiy. 
Play  Lady  (The),    liy  Klhi  Farmaii  Pratt. 
Prince  Prl^io.    By  Aiiilrcu  Lan^'. 
5hort  Cruise  (Al.    liy  James  Otis. 
Smoky  Days.    Ily  EihvanI  \V.  Tlidiiison. 
Strawberry  Hill,     liy  Mrs.  0.  F.  Frascr. 
Sunbeams  and  Moonbeams,    liy  Louise  R.  Baker. 
Two  and  One.     l!y  Cliiirlonc  M.  Vaile. 
Wreck  of  the  Circu.s  (The),    liy  James  Otis. 
Younjj  Boss  (The^.    jiy  Edward  \V.  Tliouison. 

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SMOKY  DAYS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  FIRE-FIGHTERS. 


"  Hush,  there's  mother's  good  little  girl ! 
Hush,  Ann  Susan !  I  thought  I  heard  l*eter 
shouting." 

"Shut  yer  head,  Ann  Susan!  Don't  you 
hear  yer  maw?"  said  David  Armstrong,  the 
pioneer. 

Ann  Susan,  weary  of  the  smoky  and  still  air 
that  had  covered  her  backwoods  world  for  three 
days,  rubbed  her  sore  eyes  and  screamed  more 
vigorously.  By  niglit  the  smoke  shrouded  away 
the  moon  and  stars.  By  day  the  sun  was  never 
distinctly  visible,  except  when  in  mid-sky,  where 
it  now  hung,  red  and  solid  looking,  apparently 
little   farther  above   the  Armstrongs'  clearing 

3 


imk>wmfi**9 


W. 


I 


4  SMORV  DAYS. 

than  the  pines  on  top  of  the  small  mountain 
they  called  the  I  lump. 

"Hush,  Ann  Susan!  Hush,  baby!"  said 
Mary,  the  eldest  daughter,  rattling  two  iron 
spoons  together.  "Look  what  Mary's  doing. 
See  what  a  good  little  girl  Eliza  Jane  is.  Lis- 
ten if  brother  Peter's  calling." 

Ann  Susan  did  not  condescend  to  obey.  Eliza 
Jane,  the  five-year-old,  gazed  across  the  table  at 
the  screaming  "baby"  with  an  air  of  superior 
goodness. 

"Hush,  there!  What's  Peter  sayin',  maw?" 
said  the  pioneer,  with  alarm.  "  Is  he  shouting 
fire  ?    Can  you  make  it  out?  " 

His  wife  listened  intently.  "  Oh  dear,  oh 
dear,  it's  too  bad ! "  she  cried,  suddenly,  in  such 
anguish  that  Ann  Susan  was  startled  to  silence. 

For  a  moment  nothing  was  heard  in  the  log- 
cabin  except  the  rhythmical  roar  of  the  rapids 
of  the  Big  Brazeau.  Then  a  boy's  voice  came 
clearly  over  the  monotone  of  the  river. 

"  Father !  Hurry !  There's  fire  falling  near 
the  barn ! " 

"  The  barn'U  go,  sure  !  "  shouted  Armstrong, 
and  sprang  up  so  quickly  as  to  upset  the  table, 


3 


9 


^f' 


k: 

si 

I 


•'■v.iT-,' .'j.-^' : 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


whose  pannikins,  black-liandled  forks  and  knives, 
coffee-pot,  tin  plates,  fried  pork,  potatoes,  and 
bread  clattepni  to  the  floor. 

As  Ann  Susan  stared  at  the  chasm  which  had 
suddenly  come  between  her  and  Eliza  Jane, 
Armstrong  and  ]\Iary  ran  out.  The  mother,  as 
she  tottered  after  her  husband  and  daugliter, 
wailed,  "  The  barn  is  going,  sure !  Oh  dear,  if 
only  lie  could  'a'  spared  the  hay ! " 

The  children,  left  sitting  in  their  high  chairs, 
stared  silently  at  one  another,  hearing  only  the 
hoarse  pouring  of  the  river  and  the  buzzing  of 
flies  resettling  on  the  scattered  food. 

"  De  barn  is  doin',  sure  !  "  echoed  Eliza  Jane, 
descending  from  her  elevation.  "Baby  turn  and 
see  do  barn  is  doin'."  Ann  Susan  gave  her  hand 
to  Eliza  Jane,  and  the  two  toddled  through  the 
wrecked  dinner  things  to  the  outside,  where  the 
sun,  yellowed  by  the  motionless  smoke-pall, 
hung  like  a  great  orange  over  the  clearing. 

As  David  Armstrong  ran  toward  his  son 
Peter  he  saw  brands  dropping  straight  down 
as  from  an  invisible  balloon.  The  lighter  pieces 
swayed  like  blazing  shingles ;  the  heavier,  de- 
scending more  quickly,  gave  off  trails  of  sparks 


6 


SMOKY  DA  VS. 


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wliicli  mostly  tuniud  to  iislics  before  touching 
the  grass. 

When  the  pioneer  reached  the  phico  of  dan- 
ger, the  shower  had  ceased ;  but  grass  fires  had 
already  started  in  twenty  places.  Peter  had 
picked  up  a  big  broom  of  cedar  branches  tied 
together,  and  begun  to  thrash  at  the  blaze. 

His  father  and  sister  joined  without  a  word 
in  the  light  against  lire  that  they  had  -waged 
at  intervals  for  three  days,  during  which  the 
whole  forest  across  the  Big  Tirazeau  had  seemed 
burning,  except  a  strip  of  low-lying  woods  adja- 
cent to  the  stream.  Night  and  day  one  of  the 
four  grown  Armstrongs  had  watched  for  "lire 
falling,"  but  none  of  the  previous  showers  of 
coals,  whirled  high  on  the  up-draught  from  the 
burning  woods,  and  carried  afar  by  currents 
moving  above  the  still  smoke-pall,  had  come 
down  near  the  barn. 

Now  the  precious  forty  tons  of  stored  hay 
seemed  doomed,  as  scattered  locks,  strown  on 
the  ground  outside  the  barn,  caught  from  the 
blazing  brands.  The  arid,  long  and  trodden 
grass  caught.  Every  chip  and  twig,  dry  as 
tinder    in    that    late   August   weather,  blazed 


•K 

i 


I 


8M0KV  DAYS. 


wlieii  touched  by  flame.  Sparks,  Avaveriiig  up 
from  the  grass  to  tlrift  a  liltle  ou  no  percepLiblu 
wind,  were  enough  to  start  fresh  conflagration. 

Peter  thraslied  till  all  was  black  around  him, 
but  a  dozen  patches  flickered  near  by  when  he 
looked  around.  Beating,  stamping,  sometimes 
slapping  out  sparks  with  their  bare  hands,  the 
father,  son,  and  daughter  all  strove  in  vain, 
while  the  mother,  scarcely  strong  enougli  to 
lift  her  broom,  looked  distractedly  at  the  grow- 
ing area  of  danger. 

"  Lord,  O  Lord,  if  you  could  on'y  have  mercy 
on  the  barn!  We  could  make  out  without  the 
house,  but  if  the  hay  goes  we're  done!"  she 
kept  muttering.  Eliza  Jane,  hand-in-hand  with 
Ann  Susan,  watched  the  conflict,  and  stolidly 
re-echoed  her  mother's  words,  till  both  were 
startled  to  silence  by  suddenly  catching  sight 
of  a  strange  boy  who  had  ascended  from  the 
Big  Brazeau's  rocky  bed  to  the  Armstrong 
clearing. 

None  of  the  other  Armstrongs  had  yet  seen 
the  stranger  boy,  who  neither  announced  him- 
self by  a  shout,  nor  stood  on  the  bank  more  than 
long  enough  to  comprehend  the  danger  to  the 


8 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


I'f 


I; 


bivrn.  Quickly  graspiiij?  tlio  meaning  of  the 
desperate  efforts  of  the  pioneer  family,  per- 
ceiving clearly  that  the  barn  was  in  clanger, 
the  stranger  remarked,  "By  Jove!"  threw  a 
light  pack  from  his  back,  unstrapped  it,  ran 
down  to  the  river  with  his  large  gray  blanket, 
dipped  this  into  the  water,  and  trailing  it,  flew 
swiftly  to  aid  in  the  fight  against  fire. 

"Here,  you  boy,"  cried  the  newcomer  to 
Peter,  "come  and  take  the  other  side  of  this 
blanket !  "  He  had  already  drav;n  it  over  the 
flame-edge  nearest  the  barn  and  was  trailing  its 
wet  folds  over  the  quickening  blaze.  "Hurry; 
help  me  to  spread  the  blanket  —  this  is  the 
way ! "  he  cried  with  decision. 

Peter  understood  and  obeyed  instantly  though 
he  resented  the  tone  of  command. 

"Take  both  corners!"  cried  the  newcomer. 
"  Now  then !  Do  as  I  do."  He  and  Peter 
walked  rapidly  over  the  wet  blanket.  When 
they  lifted  it  the  space  was  black. 

"  Again !  "  The  stranger  spoke  in  a  calm 
imperative  voice.  They  drew  the  blanket  over 
another  space  of  light  flames,  spread  it,  stamped 
on  it,  repeated  the  entire  operation. 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


9 


''Nevor  mind  the  firo  over  tlicro  !  "  cried  this 
comma ndiiijij  youth  to  David  Armstrong.  "  Como 
hero  —  gather  hetwecn  the  harn  and  the  hlanketl 
Shap  out  any  sparks  that  fly  between  I  " 

Tlie  stranger  had  brought  into  the  struggle  a 
clear  plan  and  orderly  action.  Now  all  strove 
togetlier —  brooms  and  blanket  as  organs  of  one 
firc-fighting  machine.  In  fifteen  minutes  there 
was  not  a  spark  in  tlio  clearing,  and  the  smoke- 
blackened  Armstrongs  stood  panting  about  their 
young  deliverer,  who  was  api)arently  quite  cool. 

"  You  give  us  mighty  good  help,  young  fel- 
ler. Jest  in  the  nick  of  time,  too,"  said  the 
pioneer,  gratefully. 

"Aw — very  glad,  I'm  sure,"  drawled  the 
lad,  almost  dropping  his  r's  while  he  flicked  his 
fore-and-aft  cap  with  a  gray  silk  handkerchief. 
"  I  rather  thought  your  barn  was  going,  don't 
you  know." 

"  So  it  was,  if  you  hadn't  jumped  in  so  spry," 
said  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

"Aw  —  well  —  perhaps  not  exactly,  madam. 
It  -wasn't  to  be  burned,  don't  you  know." 

Tlio  mystified  family  stared  at  this  fatalist 
while  ho  calmly  snapped  the  handkerchief  about 


10 


SMOh'V  DAYS. 


U:  ;': 


liw  belted  blouses  lii.s  tij^liL  liousuis,  and  ovoii 
Ilia  lliit :k-.Mf)lod  Widkiiii,'  b(H)t.s.  AVIuiii  lio  had 
fairly  ckitiid  bis  ganiiunts  ol'  litllo  ciuduis  and 
dust,  bo  looked  pleasantly  at  the  [(iuiicur,  and 
said  with  a  bow:  ''Mr.  David  Annstronj^',  I 
believe  .   * 

"  Dave,"  said  the  backwoodsman,  curtly. 

I'l'ter  lauyiied.  lie  had  conceived  for  the 
ceremonious  youth  that  slight  aversion  which 
the  forest-bred  boy  often  feels  for  the  "city 
feller." 

IMrs.  Armstrong  and  Mary  did  not  share 
Peter's  sentiment,  but  looked  wnth  some  admi- 
ration on  the  neat  little  fellow  who  had  shown 
himself  so  quick  to  plan  and  ready  to  act. 

Peter  had  rashly  jumped  to  the  opinion  that 
the  stranger  was  a  "dude" — one  of  a  class 
much  rei)rehended  in  tlie  columns  of  the  Kelh/s 
CroHsbiij  Star  and  North  Ottawa  VaUei)  Inde- 
pendent,, in  whose  joke  department  Peter  de- 
lifrhted.  There  he  had  learned  all  that  he 
knew  about  "  dudes." 

The  stranger  in  dusting  himself,  had  dis- 
played wiiat  even  Mary  thought  an  effeminate 
care  for  his  personal  appearance.     Not  only  so, 


BMO^V  DAYS. 


11 


but  ho  somehow  contrived  to  look  smartly 
drcssctl  though  (rostunied  suitably  for  the  woods 
iji  a  brownisli  suit  of  hard  "hali'ax"  tweed, 
flannel  shirt,  and  gray  silk  tie.  indeed,  this 
small  city  youth  was  so  liandsome,  so  grace- 
fully built,  and  so  well  set  up  by  <lrill  and  gym- 
nasti(!s  that  he  could  luivo  worn  overalls  and 
looked  nicely  attired.  To  crown  all,  he  was 
superlatively  at  ease. 

"  Who  be  you  ?  "  inquired  the  pioneer. 

"  Aw — my  name  is  Vincent  Algernon  Bracy." 

"A  dood,  for  sure  I  "  thought  Peter,  tryiug 
to  suppress  his  laughter.  "  Them's  the  kind  o' 
names  they  always  have.  Now  if  he'd  on'y 
fetch  out  that  eyeglass  and  tljera  cigarettes  I " 

At  Peter's  polite  but  m 'st  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  keep  his  laughter  .Utwn,  his  mother 
and  Mary  frowned,  and  into  Peter's  eyes  young 
Bracy  looked  indifferently  for  a  few  seconds, 
during  which  the  lads  began  to  have  a  certain 
respect  for  each  other. 

"He'd  be  an  ugly  little  ch;.p  to  run  up 
against,"  thought  the  young  piont  or,  who  could 
not  have  fashioned  what  he  thoi  ^dit  a  higher 
compliment  to  any  boy.     But  a  famt  flicker  of 


imttaatammMM^'* 


12 


SMOKY  BAYS. 


amusement  in  Vincent  Bracy's  face  so  annoyed 
Peter  that  he  wished  circumstances  were  favor- 
able for  a  tussle  —  "Just  to  show  him  who's 
the  best  man." 

Vincent  Algernon  Bracy's  thoughts  during 
tlie  same  time  were,  "  I  wish  I  could  hire  this 
chap  for  the  survey.  He  looks  like  the  right 
sort  to  work.  I  wonder  how  I  have  offended 
him." 

"  Where  ye  from  ?  "  asked  David  Armstrong. 

"  My  place  of  residence  ?  " 

"No.  I  seen  ye're  a  city  feller.  Where'd 
you  come  from  to-day  ?  " 

"  About  ten  miles  down  river." 

"  Yas.     What  you  doin'  there  ?  " 

"  Camped  there  last  night." 

"Alone?" 

"  Except  for  sand-flies." 

"  Yas,  they'd  give  you  a  welcome.  What 
you  travellin'  for  in  this  back  country  all 
alone?" 

"  I'm  not  travelling  all  alone." 

"  You  said  you  «>as." 

"  No,  I  said  I  camped  alone  last  night.  My 
chief  is  camped  fifteen  miles  lower." 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


13 


"  Chief !     There  don't  look  to  be  no  Indian  in 

^OM." 

"  Chief  engineer." 

"  Oho  —  now  I  size  y'  up.  You're  one  of  the 
surveyors  explorin'  for  the  railroad?" 

"Not  exactly.  But  I'm  on  the  engineering 
party." 

"  Same  thing,  I  guess.  When  d'ye  expeck  to 
get  the  line  to  here  ?  " 

"  Next  week." 

"  Why  !  yer  a-goin'  it !  " 

"  Yes  —  the  work  is  to  he  pushed  quickly." 

"No — say?  It's  really  goin'  to  be  built  this 
time?" 

"Certainly.  The  company  liave  plenty  of 
money  at  last.  Trains  will  be  running  here 
next  spring." 

"Hurray!  Hear  that,  maw ?  The  railroad's 
comin'  straight  on.  They'll  want  every  straw 
of  liay  we've  got  for  their  gradin'  horses." 

"Certainly,"  said  Bracy.  "It's  lucky  you 
saved  your  hay.  How  much  have  you?  Ten 
tons?" 

"  Forty  and  more,  I  guess." 

"  Really  !     I  congratulate  you,  by  Jove." 


14 


SMOKY  DATS. 


u 


"  What  you  say  ?  " 

"  I'm  glad  you  saved  your  hay." 

"  Oil  —  now  I  understand.  So'm  I.  It'll 
fetch  mebby  eighty  dollars  a  ton." 

"Probably.  I've  ceen  hay  at  a  hundred  a 
ton  on  the  Coulonge." 

In  that  district  of  the  great  North  Ottawa 
Valley  hay  frequently  sold  at  such  enormous 
prices  before  the  railway  came  in.  A  tract  of 
superior  pine  had  betii  discovered  fai  from  the 
settlements  and  where  wild  hay  was  not  to  be 
found.  Transportation  over  hills,  rocks,  and 
ravines  wr.s  exceedingly  costly.  Horses  were 
partly  fed  on  bread,  on  wheat,  on  "  bro  vv  se  "  from 
trees,  as  well  as  on  oats,  but  nothing  to  supply 
the  place  of  hay  adequately  could  be  found. 
Lumbermen  "  had  to  have  it,"  and  Armstrong 
had  "moved  way  back"  on  purpose  to  profit 
by  their  demand.  Unprecedented  prices  must 
result  from  the  competition  between  lumbermen 
and  the  advance  construction-gangs  of  the  in- 
coming railway. 

"Where  you  off  to  now  all  alone?"  asked 
Armstrong. 

"  I'm  going  to  Kelly's  Crossing." 


.-■.iS*-Ai''-a^',-';jti-."--':-^.E^;,C'.*— •'-fiJ.'-'-t;;- 


SMOKY   DAYS. 


16 


"What  for?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  may  tell  you.  My  cliief 
could  not  spare  a  boat  and  men  for  a  trip  down 
to  Kelly's.  We  heard  of  a  path  from  here  over 
the  mountain.  I  am  sent  this  way  to  hire  all 
the  men  I  can  collect  at  Kelly's." 

"  I  guess  you  must  be  a  purty  smart  young 
feller  to  be  trusted  that  way." 

"You're  very  kind,  I'm  sure,"  and  Vincent 
waved  his  hand  with  a  deprecatory  gesture 
that  did  not  detract  from  his  confident  bearing. 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  went  on,  "  I  do  my  best  to 
obey  orders.  Now,  perhaps  you  will  be  so  good 
as  to  show  me  the  path  over  the  mountain." 

"The  Hump,  you  mean?" 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  it  called  the  Hump.  How 
far  to  Kelly's  Crossing  ?  " 

"  Thirty  mile." 

"  So  much  ?  I  might  almost  as  well  have 
gone  down  river." 

"  No,  it's  a  good,  flat  path  on  top  there." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  that.  Good-day,  Mr. 
Armstrong.  Thank  you  very  much.  Good- 
day,  madam.     Good-bye,  Miss  Armstrong." 

He  raised  his  cap  with  a  bow  to  each,  and 


""■^^ 


K  t> 


IG 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


^■, 


\i 


concluding  Avitli  Pelcv,  remarked,  "Good-day, 
my  boy,"  iu  an  intentionally  patronizing  tone. 
Tills  was  Vincent's  retort  for  Peter's  grins 
at  the  Bracy  name,  l)ut  lie  liad  scarcely  spoken 
before  lie  regretted  the  words;  not  because 
they  vexed  Peter,  but  because  Vincent  felt 
that  he  had  descended  below  that  altitude  of 
manly  composure  at  Avliich  he  had  aimed  ever 
since   leaving   Upper   Canada    College   a   year 

before. 

Even  pioneer  boys  are  but  mortal,  and  Peter 

now  lost  his  temper. 

"Ain't  you  afeard  to  l)o  out  in  them  woods 
all  alone  without  your  maw?"  said  he. 

"Not  at  all,  thank  you.  Pm  sure  it's  very 
kind  of  you  to  inquire,"  replied  Vincent, 
sweetly. 

j\Iary  laughed  outright. 

"  lie's  too  smart  for  you,  Peter,"  said  David 
Armstrong,  laughing  too.  Quite  at  a  loss  to 
meet  so  affable  an  answer,  Peter  wrathfully 
watched  the  city  boy  striding  away. 

"But  saj',"  cried  ]Mi's.  Armstrong,  "you've 
forcrotten  your  blanket." 

"No,  mad;nn,"  r.iid  Vincent,  turning  round. 


i!*«'wninaK>!SSiiyrr?7Tf7?! 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


17 


"It's   not   worth   my  while   carrying  it.     Too 
heavy,  don't  you  know." 

"It  has.  got  wet  and  dirty  —  and  such  a 
handsome  blanket  it  was!"  said  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong. "But  say,  young  gentleman,  'tain't 
fair  you  should  lose  your  blanket  helping  us." 

"Don't  mention  it,  madam,  I  beg  of  you. 
Very  glad  to  be  of  service,  I  assure  you." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  take  a  dry  blanket.  We've 
got  lots  —  ain't  we,  paw  ?  " 

"  We  have.  Nights  is  often  cold  now.  You 
can't  sleep  out  without  one  —  not  to  say  in 
comfort." 

"  Well,  I  will  take  a  dry  blanket,"  said  Vin- 
cent, after  reflection.  "I  mean  to  camp  at  a 
creek  that  is  about  fifteen  miles  from  here,  I'm 
told." 

"  Yas  —  Lost  Creek." 

"  Aw  —  why  so  called  ?  " 

"  It  gets  lost  after  it  runs  a  good  ways,  some 
say.  I  guess  there  ain't  nobody  ever  follered 
it  tlirough  to  the  Brazeau." 

"Here's  a  blanket,  Mr.  Bracy,"  said  Mary, 
running  from  the  cabin.  "  It's  not  such  a  good 
big  one  as  yours  was." 


18 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


U 


She  was  a  pretty  girl,  though  now  begrimed 
with  smoke  and  cinders,  and  Vincent,  looking 
at  her  with  fun  twinkling  in  his  eyes,  lifted 
his  cap  once  more  off  his  yellow,  curly,  close- 
cropped  liair,  with  an  air  at  which  Peter  se- 
cretly said,  "  Yah-ah  I  "  in  disgust. 

"Very  good  of  you,  Fm  sure.  Miss  Arm- 
strong," concluded  Vincent,  as  he  strapped  the 
blanket.  Having  placed  it  back  of  his  shoul- 
ders, he  made  one  more  grand  and  inclusive 
bow,  and  then  rapidly  ascended  the  Hump. 

"Well,  I'm  teetotally  blamed  if  we  didn't 
let  liim  go  without  a  bite  to  eat,"  said  Peter 
three  minutes  later.  The  pioneer  boy,  bred  in 
a  land  where  hcripitality  is  given  and  taken 
almost  as  a  matter  of  course,  was  aghast  at 
the  family  failure  to  offer  the  stranger  food. 

"Dear,  dear!  Pm  ashamed  of  myself,  so  I 
am,"  cried  Mrs.  Armstrong.  "After  all  he 
done  for  us !     And  him  that  eas^/  about  it." 

"  111  say  this  for  him,"  remarked  the  pioneer, 
"he's  cur'us  and  queer  in  his  talk,  but  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  spry  Avay  he  worked  that  blan- 
ket of  hisn,  the  barn  was  gone  sure.  He  saved 
me  more'n  three  thousand  dollars." 


SMOKY  DATS. 


19 


"  IIo  can  fly  round  and  no  mistake,  I  allow 
that.  'Tain't  tlie  frst  lire-fightiii'  he's  did," 
said  Peter,  forgetting  his  resentment  at  the 
vanished  Vincent's  overpowering  airs.  "We 
was  near  a  spat,  but  I  liked  him  first-rate,  all 
the  same." 

"  Such  a  name ! "  said  Mary,  wishing  to  jus- 
tify Peter,  now  that  he  had  spoken  magnani- 
mously. 

"  Well,  he  comes  of  respectable  enough  folks 
anyhow  —  Til  make  no  doubt  of  that,"  .aid  the 
mother,  "but  laws!  there  ain't  no  denyin'  — 
for  if  ever  there  was  an  outlandish  name ! " 

"Next  time  I  see  Vincent  Awlgehnon  Bi-acy, 
him  and  Peter  Armstrong's  going  to  try  which 
is  the  best  man,"  said  Peter,  who  conceived,  as 
all  the  men  of  the  Brazeau  do,  that  "best 
man  "  could  signify  nothing  but  the  man  most 
efficient  in  rough-and-tumble  fighting. 

"Better  look  out  you  don't  go  rastlin'  with 
no  thrashin'  machines,  Peter,"  said  his  father. 
"  Them  city  chaps  has  got  all  the  trips  they  is, 
you  bet.  And  up  to  boxin'  too  —  why,  they're 
scienced!  But  say,  maw,  you  wasn't  never 
madamed  and  bowed  down  to  like  that  in  all 


^! 


20 


SMOKV  DAYS. 


1^    . 


W 


your  born  days  before."  And  the  pioneer, 
chuckling,  strode  off  to  watch  the  lire  from  a 
favorabh^  place  by  the  river. 

"  It's  on'y  the  way  he's  got  o'  talkin'.  T  des- 
say  that's  tlie  way  he  was  fetched  up,"  said  the 
mother,  indulgently,  as  she  slowly  walked  with 
her  children  to  the  cabin.  The  woman  moved 
weakly  and  was  still  gasping  from  the  excite- 
ments she  had  undorgone. 

She  was  incessantly  ailing,  working,  and  over- 
worked,— it  is  the  fate  of  the  pioneer  woman, 
and  because  she  docs  not  chop,  nor  mow,  nor 
share  in  the  heavier  labors  that  are  easy  to  the 
great  strength  of  pioneer  men  she  commonly 
laughs  at  the  notion  that  overwork  is  her  bane. 
"I'm  just  kind  o'  wore  out  fussin'  round  the 
house"  was  ]\Irs.  Armstrong's    formula. 

Striding  beside  her  Peter  c  d  Eliza  Jane 
and  Ann  Susan  on  his  shoulders,  for  his  good 
temper  had  returned,  and  the  little  girls  were 
in  high  delight  with  their  "horse."  But  sud- 
denly Eliza  Jane  screamed,  the  younger  child 
stared  dumb  with  wonder,  and  Peter  set  both 
down  hastily  in  his  dismay.  His  mother  had 
■stumbled  and  fallen  heavily  forward. 


..„*:■■  ;;j;.^--.--.:..^>iat>£-.i'^ 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


21 


As  Peter  lifted  her  lie  slioiitetl,  "  Father  — 
come  —  quick!  Oh  Muiy,  is  mother  dead!"  and 
Mary,  looking  into  the  weary  face  and  catching 
it  to  her  heart  doubted  her  own  words  as  sho 
said  "  No.  Oh  Peter,  for  the  love  of  the  Lord, 
no !     I  guess  she's  fainted." 

David  Armstrong  running  desperately  to  the 
group  seized  his  wife  in  his  arms. 

"  Stand  back ! "  he  cried  as  he  laid  her  limp 
form  on  the  arid  ground.  "Peter  —  hurry — git 
water  —  mother's  tuckered  out  —  it's  the  fear  of 
the  barn  goin'  that  ails  her.  She  ain't  dead  — 
it  couldn't  be  —  oh  God  it  couldn't  be !  " 


Meantime,  Vincent  Bracy  had  reached  the 
flat  summit  of  the  Hump,  and  stood  on  its  edge 
gazing  far  and  wide.  Near  the  horizon,  in  every 
direction  except  toward  Kelly's  Crossing,  the 
smoke-pall  was  lurid  from  fire  below.  Beyond 
the  mile-wide,  low-lying,  green  forest  north  of 
the  curving  Big  Brazeau  extended  heights 
Avhich  now  looked  like  an  interminable  embank- 
ment of  dull  red  '  nked  by  wide  patches  of  a 
fiercer,  whiter  glow. 

No  wind  relieved  the  gloomy,  evenly  diffused 


<?9 


SMOKY  J) A  VS. 


liGiit  around  Vincoiit  on  tlio  top  of  tlio  j^reat 
hill.  No  sound  roiiclied  him  but  the  softened 
murmur  of  tho  rapids,  tho  stridulous  shrilling 
of  locusts  and  treu-toads  unseen,  and  tho  oeca- 
sional  barking  of  the  Armstrongs'  dog  away- 
down  in  tho  solitary  cleai-ing. 

"It's  almost  hot  enough  up  here  to  begin 
burning  on  its  own  liook,"  said  Vincent,  wip- 
ing streams  of  sweat  off  his  forehead  and  neck. 
"Shouldn't  I  be  in  a  pretty  scrape  if  the  Hump 
caught ! " 

But  tho  thought  gave  him  no  pause,  nor  in- 
deed, any  alarm.  He  liad  been  sent  to  Kelly's 
Crossing,  and  to  get  there  speedily  was  the  dom- 
inant point  in  his  mind;  so  he  plunged  into  the 
woods,  and  soon  was  beyond  every  visible  evi- 
dence of  the  groat  forest  fire,  except  only  the 
smoke  that  lay  dimly  in  i■h'^  aisles  of  the  pinery, 
and  gave  its  odor  and  taste  to  the  air. 


CHAPTER  II. 


MOTHER  8   CUP   OF  TEA. 


"  Don't  you  stay  in,  Davy.  I  won't  faint  no 
more.  I  ain't  siok  now  —  not  to  say  real  sick. 
It's  on'y  Vm  a  kind  of  clone  out.  I'd  feel 
easier  if  I  knowed  you  was  out  watching  the 
barn." 

"Peter's  watchin'  all  right,  maw,"  answered 
David  Armstrong,  gazing  from  the  cabin  door 
at  the  forest  fire  across  the  Big  Brazeau.  "  It 
looks  kind  o'  squenched  some,  Hannah." 

"Yes.  It's  always  like  that  about  noontime. 
The  sky's  lightsomer  when  tlie  sun's  high,  so's 
you  can't  see  the  red  of  the  fire.  But  there 
it  is  —  threatenin'  —  threatenin'  —  it's  almost 
worse  than  in  the  night  when  you  can  see  how 
big  it's  grew.  Oh,  if  it'd  go  out ;  Lord,  I  feel 
s'if  I  couldn't  bear  it  to  be  burnin',  burnin', 
always  burnin'  and  threatenin'.  But  I  wisht 
you'd  go,  Davy.     You  can't  do  nothin'  for  me." 

23 


24 


SMOKY  DATS. 


i 


f 


"S'posiii'  you  wiiH  to  faint  ag:  In,  and  me  not 
nigli  —  and  you  didn't  come  out  of  it,  Ili'nnah?" 

"But  I  ain't  a  goin'  to,  Davy  dear,"  she  said, 
fondly,  moved  by  solicitude  so  unusual  in  the 
work-worn  man. 

"It'd  be  hard  lines  if  it  did  come  that  way 
—  and  you  and  mo  so  long  goin'  on  together." 

"  But  I  ain't  goin'  to  faint  no  more,  Davy 
dear.  It  was  on'y  I  got  so  excited  when  I 
thought  the  barn  was  goin'.  Don't  you  be 
feard  about  me." 

"I  wisht  I  knowed  what  to  do  for  you, 
Ilann.  .." 

"So  you  do,  Davy,  speakin'  that  soft  —  like 
it  was  old  times  come  again.  If  you'd  put  your 
head  down  onct  —  just  onct." 

The  grizzled  pioneer  looked  sheepishly  at 
Mary,  who  stepped  out  of  the  cabin,  as  he  put 
his  smoke-blackened  face  down  to  his  wife's  on 
the  bed.  She  placed  her  hard  hands  behind  his 
head  and  kissed  him.  Her  eyes  were  tearful, 
though  her  smile  was  joyful,  when  he  rose. 

"Well,  I  s'poso  I  had  better  go,"  said  the 
pioneer. 

"Yes,   Davy.     Now   I'm   all   right.     You've 


SMOKY  DATS. 


26 


clone  me  a  heap  of  good.     If  I'd  on'y  a  cup 

of  tea!" 

"  Couldn't  you  cliooae  a  cup  of  coffee,  Han- 
nah? If  MaiyM  make  it  good  and  strong, 
now?" 

"No.  Someways  I  can't  seem  to  relish  it 
wlien  I  know  it's  on'y  roasted  peas.  Don't  you 
trouble,  Davy.  Go  out  and  let  Peter  come 
nearer  the  house.  When  you're  both  watehin', 
maybe  I  can  sleep.  Oh,  I  viisht  I  could  lielp 
more ! " 

"Why  now,  Hannah — you  do  help — cordin' 
to  your  stren'th  —  all  you  can.  Say,  maybe  you 
could  sup  some  of  the  labrador." 

He  took  up  a  handful  of  leaves  that  Canadian 
voyageurs  often  infuse  for  wai-m  drink  when 
they  lack  tea  —  true  coffee  is  an  unknowji 
beverage  in  that  district. 

"  No,  the  labrador  kind  o'  goes  agen  my  in- 
side, Davy  —  it's  the  tea  I'm  hankerin'  after." 

"■  If  I  dast  leave  I'd  go  out  for  you,  Hannah." 

"  Out  to  Kelly's  Crossing !  Thirty  mile  and 
back  for  a  cup  of  tea  for  me  !     This  weather ! " 

"I  wisht  I  dast  go.  But  if  the  barn'd  catch? 
And  hay  the  price  it  is ! "  he  said,  leaving  the 


26 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


.    i 


sick  woman,  who,  lying  back  on  the  rustling 
straw  bed,  drew  her  thin  pillow  of  hen-feathers 
about  her  thin  elieeks. 

"  If  the  llies'd  let  me  be ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"I'll  keep  'em  off,  maw,  and  you  try  to 
sleep,"  said  Mary,  Waving  lier  straw  hat. 

"  But  that's  a  comfort,  IMary  !  "  She  lay  still 
for  a  while,  then  said,  "I'm  that  weak!  Oh 
my ! " 

"  If  I'd  'a'  thought,  I'd  'a'  saved  up  the  tea, 
mother."     Mary  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"  Is  Peter  a-watchin',  Mary  ?  " 

"Yes,  maw,  clost  outside.  The  fire's  low- 
like." 

"I  can't  seem  to  get  no  rest  for  the  fear  of 
it.  Oh,  if  the  Lord  ud  send  rain !  Lord,  Lord, 
Lord!"  she  wailed,  "do  hear  my  prayer  for 
rain !  It's  been  so  long  a-burnin'  and  a-burnin' 
yonder! " 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  listened  to  the  per- 
vasive tone  of  the  rapids.  Then,  after  a  few 
minutes,  when  Mary  had  begun  to  hope  she 
slept,  the  poor  woman,  as  if  dreaming  of  un- 
attainable bliss,  sighed:  "  Oh,  hoiv  Iwishtlhad 
a  cup  of  tea  !  " 


S3I0KY  DyiYS. 


27 


Peter,  who  had  been  softly  approaching  the 
cabin  door,  overheard  the  words,  and  now  the 
boy  and  girl  looked  fearfully  at  each  other,  as 
the  misery  vibrated  in  the  tones  of  their  usually 
uncomplaining  mother.  The  son  had  no  words 
to  fashion  his  yearning  for  her,  but  it  did  not 
include  fear  that  she  was  near  death.  Except 
that  the  wisps  of  straight  gray  hair  beside  her 
cars  seemed  wider  and  grayer,  she  did  not 
look  changed  from  the  toil-worn  mother  he  had 
always  seen. 

When  they  were  sure  she  slept,  Peter  and 
Mary  went  outside.  Both  seemed  to  hear,  over 
and  over  again,  on  the  hot,  still  and  smoky  air 
their  mother's  voice:  "  Oh^  how  Itvisht  I  had  a 
cup  of  tea  !  " 

"If  we'd  on'y  thought  to  ask  that  young 
gentleman  to  fetch  in  a  pound ! "  said  Mary. 

"Him?  That  Bracy?  You'd  'a'  seen  his 
young  gentleman  nose  turnin'  up ! " 

"  No,  you  wouldn't !     He  was  that  friendly." 

"  Friendly  I     G'way !  " 

Mary  prudently  dropped  the  matter.  After 
a  while,  looking  at  their  father's  figure  outlined 
against  the  woods  beyond  the  river,  she  said, 


28 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


"  If  paw'd  'a'  fetched  in  enough  tea  last  time, 
or  gone  again." 

"Father's  gettin'  too  old  for  to  walk  thirty 
mile  and  back  more'n  onct  a  month.  But 
mother'd  ought  to  have  her  cup  of  tea.  She's 
hankerin'  bad." 

"Hankerin'!      Peter,  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
right  straight.    I'm  scared  about  mother.    Moth- 
er's like  to  die  as  sure  as  you're  settin'  there, 
Peter,  and  tlien  what's  to  'come  of  Ann  Susan 
and  Eliza  Jane  ?  "  sobbed  Mary. 
"  Like  to  die  !     Say  now,  Mary  ?  " 
"If  she  ain't  got  her  tea  reg'lar,  I  mean." 
"  By  cracky,  mother's  r/ot  to  have  her  tea ! " 
cried  Peter.    "  What's  to  hinder  me  going  out  ?  " 
"  You're  not  able  this  weather." 
"  G'way !     Abler  nor  father  any  day.     Ain't 
that  'ere  dood  ofP  for  Kelly's  Crossin'  all  alone? 
Nat'r'lly  I  ain't  able  like  Vincent  Awlgehnon 
Bwacy  is,  but  I'm  as  able  as  most  common  follis." 
"Don't  mock  him,  Peter.     He  didn't  say  his 
name  like  that.     Not  exactly.     But  you  could 
go  better'n  tliat  little  feller,  Peter.     Only  you 
can't  go  no  more'n  father  — not  now,  for  there's 
the  fire  and  the  barn." 


8M0KT  BATS. 


29 


(( 


■  What's  the  barn  alongside  of  mother's  life  ? 
And  if  brands  does  come,  ain't  we  keeping  wet 
blankets  ready  now?  I'll  go  and  tell  father 
I'm  goin'  out  for  mother's  tea,"  and  Peter  ran 
across  the  clearing  to  speak  with  his  father,  who 
sat  on  a  rail  fence  and  chewed  his  quid  in  a 
mournful  way. 

"Paw,  Fm  goin'  out  to  Kelly's.  Mother's 
sick  for  her  tea." 

"S'pose  you  could?" 

" Certain  sure.     Why  not?" 

"Well,  I'm  scared  to  leave  maw  myself, 
Peter.     On'y  it  seemed  a  tur'ble  trip  for  you." 

"  'Tain't  nothing." 

"  Well,  you  could  fetch  in  more  loading  than 
me.  On'y  if  there's  fire  betwixt  here  and 
Kelly's?" 

"Can't  be.  The  Hump's  all  right,"  said 
Peter,  and  looked  up  to  the  mountain's  crown 
of  pine. 

Around  the  precipitous  Hump  the  Big  Bra- 
zeau  runs  circuitously  in  eighty  miles  of  almost 
continuous  rapids  from  Armstrong's  place  to 
Kelly's  Crossing.  The  distance  across  the  neck 
is  but  thirty  miles. 


ii 


30 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


t: 


"There's  never  been  no  fire  on  the  Hump; 
too  high,  mebby.  I  guess  you  might  take  an 
early  start  in  the  morning,  Peter." 

"No,  I'm  goin'  straight  away.  Mother's 
needin'  her  tea  that  bad  I  couldn't  sleep.  I'll 
fetch  in  all  the  stuff  we've  lackin'." 

In  winter  the  Armstrong's  could  obtain  per- 
ishable groceries  from  the  stores  and  "  vans  "  of 
neighboring  lumber  shanties,  but  from  March 
to  November,  while  the  shanties  were  deserted, 
the  pioneer  went  out  once  a  mouth  to  Kelly's 
Crossing  on  foot. 

"Well,  if  you're  boun'  to  start,  the  sooner 
you're  off  the  better.  It'll  be  nigh  dark  when 
you  strike  Lost  Creek.  You'll  find  the  young 
surveyor  chap  there,  Peter." 

"  So  I  was  thinkin'." 

"Don't  you  quar'l  with  him!  Mebby  he'd 
lick  you,  Peter,"  said  the  pioneer,  laughing  de- 
risively at  his  own  imagination,  as  Peter  well 
understood. 

"If  he  don't  sass  me,  there  won't  be  no 
quar'lin'  nor  fightin' !  "  said  Peter.  "  I  guess 
he  don't  mean  no  harm;  it's  on'y  his  ways  is 
queer." 


^.\«.i,-\i.^run.;. 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


31 


In  ten  minutes  the  pioneer  boy,  with  a  long- 
handled  half-axe  in  his  hand,  a  hunting-knife 
at  his  belt,  a  water-tight  tin  box  of  matches  in 
his  pocket,  and  a  day's  provision  of  pork  and 
bread  in  a  bag  wrapped  in  his  blanket,  was 
on  the  track  over  which  Vincent  Bracy  had 
passed  two  hours  earlier.  Finding  his  mother 
asleep,  Peter  had  not  the  heart  to  rouse  her 
for  good-bye. 

On  the  plateau  among  the  pines,  where  he 
had  liopcd  for  cooler  walking,  the  swooning 
and  smoke-flavored  air  seemed  burned  dry  as 
from  an  over-heated  stove.  Peter  soon  regretted 
that  he  had  brought  no  water-bottle.  But  the 
regrets  were  too  late, —  he  must  endure  thirst, 
and  hurry  on  lo  relieve  it  at  Lost  Creek. 

When  he  reached  tlie  stream  at  al)out  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Vincent  Bracy  was  not 
to  be  seen.  Peter  shouted  in  vain.  There  Avas 
no  reply. 

Tlie  young  pioneer,  after  quenching  his  thirst, 
peeled  off  for  a  roll  in  the  cold,  spring-fed 
stream.  After  a  few  plunges  he  stood  out  on 
the  bank,  and  shouted  vainly  again  for  the 
young  engineer. 


■1 

r 


1 1 


..    f 


r,2 


Sil/OAT  J) ATS. 


"  Lost    liimself,    I'll    bet  ! "    said    Poter   to 


"Ji^y— y«y— yey!"  he  yelled.    No 


himself, 
reply. 

'*  Iley  _  you  city  fel-lor !  "     No  response. 

"  Lost  liimself  sure,"  said  Peter. 

"Dood  — dood  — dood!"  he  cried,  convinced 
that  Vincent  was  not  within  hearing.  Peter  at 
first  thought  this  sounded  "funny"  among  the 
solenni  aisles.  lUit  as  the  words  died  on  the 
great  silence  his  mood  changed.  The  quiet  and 
high  spirit  of  the  inner  forest  touched  him,  he 
knew  not  how,  to  serious  thought.  At  the  re- 
flection that  the  city  boy  might  not  be  able  to 
find  his  way  out  of  the  woods  Peter  speedily 
dressed. 

"I  believe  Pd  ought  to  go  back  aud  search 
him  up.  JTe  did  ns  a  mighty  good  turn  this 
morning,"  thought  Peter,  and  just  then  he 
noticed  two  butcher-birds  silently  flitting  about 
the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree. 

"There's  something  dead  there,"  thought 
Peter. 

He  went  to  the  log.  Behiud  it,  directly  on 
the  path,  lay  the  blaidvct,  provision-bag  and 
hatchet  of  Vincent  Bracy. 


SMOKY  UAVS. 


38 


"  Hey  —  you  !  Where  you  liidin'  ?  "  yelled 
Peter. 

No  answer. 

"  Hey  —  Windego  catched  you  ?  "  Peter 
laughed  derisively,  and  as  the  great  silence 
le turned,  felt  as  if  he  had  laughed  in  a 
church. 

Tlie  butcher-birds  gave  him  close  attention. 
When  liis  shouts  ceased,  he  listened  long. 
As  he  listened,  in  the  dim  solemnity  seemed 
sounds  —  sounds  low,  innumerable,  indistin- 
guishable, hardly  to  be  called  sounds,  —  tones 
Jis  if  tlie  motionless  myriads  of  pine  needles 
had  each  its  whisper,  — and  still  he  doubted 
whether  he  heard  anything  »  but  just  his  ears." 

Peter  sat  on  a  fallen  log  and  waited.  He 
imagined  Vincent  might  have  concealed  him- 
self "for  a  joke."  Or  might  he  not  be  search- 
ing for  a  spruce,  with  little  knobby  exudations 
of  Peter's  favorite  "  chawing  gum." 

The  strange  boy  would  of  course  come  back 
to  his  pack.  But  Peter's  conviction  of  this 
began  to  waver  at  the  end  of  five  minutes 
without  sight  or  sound  of  Bracy. 

"Iley — who's  shootin'?"     Peter  sprang  to 


84 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


his  feet.  "The  consarned  fool — he'll  set  the 
woods  afire!  But  it  wasn't  a  gun,  —  more  like 
a  pistol,  —  likely  there  wasn't  no  waddin'  in  it." 

"Hi-yi!"  he  yelled.  "Hi,  yi-yi !  Hi,  you 
Bracy  !  " 

Peter  thought  he  heard  a  shout  far  away. 
Again  he  yelled  and  stopped  to  listen.  But  he 
caught  no  note  of  reply.  Only  the  innumerable 
small  sounds  had  become  certainly  sounds  now. 

Peter  looked  round  .vith  curiosity  and  sur- 
prise. The  woods  had  become  suddenly  alive 
with  small  birds,  —  chicadees,  gray-birds,  cam})- 
hawks, — they  all  flew  as  if  from  the  direction 
of  Kelly's  Crossii  g,  not  flitting  as  usual  from 
tree  to  tree,  but  going  on  and  on. 

Crows  flapped  steadily  overhead,  out  of 
sight,  cawing  as  if  scared.  Spruce  partridges 
rattled  past,  low  in  the  aisles.  All  one  way  — 
all  toward  the  Brazeau!  Peter  could  not  im- 
agine the  cause.  What  could  have  frightened 
them  ?  Surely  two  pistol  shots  could  not  liave 
caused  this  strange  migration?  Possibly  Vin- 
cent had  followed  and  treed  a  wild-cat  or  bear. 
Possibly  he  was  off  there  fighting  for  his  life 
where  the  birds  started. 


I 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


35 


Peter  picked  up  his  hatcliet,  folt  his  knife 
safe  ■•  his  belt,  and  ran  toward  where  ho 
thought  the  pistol  sliots  liad  been  lived.  Pres- 
ently the  innumerable  small  sounds  became  a 
murmur.  Zephyrs  were  stirring.  Tlicy  in- 
creased to  a  breeze.  The  breeze  carried  a  mul- 
titudinous crackling,  Peter  fancied.  Tlie  air 
liad  warm  breaths  in  it.  Tlie  crackling  grew 
more  distinct.  Peter  stopped,  with  liis  heart 
beating  the  alarm. 

Then  Vincent  Bracy  came  running  into  view, 
leaping  logs,  plaiidy  flying  for  his  life.  Far 
behind  him  fluttered  low  what  looked  like  a 
wide  banner  of  yellow  gleams  and  red,  shifting, 
wavering,  flaring.  It  wrapped  and  climbed  five, 
fifty,  five  hundred  trees  in  the  next  few  seconds. 

"Back  —  back  —  to  the  creek!  Run.  The 
woods  are  on  fire ! "  shouted  Vincent,  and  Peter 
was  instantly  in  flight,  a  hundred  yards  ahead 
of  the  young  engineer.  A  doe,  followed  at 
fifty  yards'  distance  by  her  mottled  fawn, 
sprang  crazily  past  both  boys.  As  Peter  jumped 
into  Lost  Creek  the  little  fawn,  now  far  behind 
its  maddened  dam,  scrambled  up  the  opposite 
bank  and  went  on. 


;  1 


I 


1:^ 


n 


8G 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


Peter  looked  Iwck  over  the  slioro  that  rose  to 
the  height  of  liis  chin.  The  Avater  was  up  to 
his  waist.  Vincent  was  at  that  instant  leaping 
the  great  log  beside  which  his  pack  lay.  A 
partridge  Hying  wildly  witli  fill  its  speed 
struck  him  in  the  back  just  r  his  jum[)ing 
body  intercepted  the  bird's  line  of  llight. 
With  tlie  breath  knocked  out  of  him,  Vincent 
fell  headlong.  He  did  not  rise  at  once.  A 
brown  hare  leaped  over  him  and  came  on. 

Sparks  were  already  flying  in  a  swift  storm 
overhead.  The  breeze  created  for  itself  by  the 
advancing  flame  had  risen  to  a  furious  gale, 
under  Avhich  tlie  forest  roared  and  shrieked. 
The  wall  of  fire  poured  off  sparks  and  smoke 
in  a  prodigious  shaken  volume,  that  rolled  on, 
now  up,  uoAV  down. 

"What's  the  matter?"  yelled  Peter,  as  Vin- 
cent fell.  He  couM  hear  no  rejjly.  He  could 
not  hear  his  own  voice  above  the  fire-fury.  He 
could  not  see  Vincent.  Peter  pulled  himself 
up  the  creek's  bank  and  faced  the  coming 
flame. 

A  blast  of  heat  flew  past  him.  Smoke  hid 
the  whole  foj-est  for  an  instant.     As  it  whirled 


SMOKV  J) AY'S. 


87 


up  again  Peter  saw  Vincent  staggering  aim- 
lessly thirty  yards  away,  with  blood  llowing 
over  his  face  irom  tlio  scalp-wonnd  ho  had 
received  in  falling  on  a  branch.  lUiiidly  ho 
swayed,  trapped,  fell. 

"  We're  both  goners,"  yelled  Peter  Arm- 
strong; "but  hero  goes!"  and  he  ran  straight 
at  the  prostrate  boy. 

Vincent  rose  again.  In  the  next  moment  he 
would  have  been  clinging  round  I'eter  had  not 
the  tall  young  pioneer  stoo[)ed  to  elude  the 
grasp.  There  Avas  not  an  instant  for  parley. 
l*eter  knew  exactly  how  he  might  best  carry 
his  load.  Bending  as  he  ran  in  he  thrust  his 
head  between  Vincent's  legs,  grasped  them  as 
he  rose,  turned,  sped  back. 

"  Don't  move  !  "  yelled  Peter. 

Bracy  made  no  struggle.  A  roll  of  smoke 
and  sparks  enveloped  the  boys.  It  lifted,  and 
again  the  path  was  visible.  But  the  thick  car- 
pet of  pino-needles  had  begun  to  flame  under 
Peter's  tread. 

A  blast  as  from  an  open  furnace  enveloped 
the  two.  Peter  stumbled,  staggered  up,  took 
three   steps,   fell  headlong  —  into  water.     The 


m 

It-'' 


I, 


38 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


full  roaring  uiid  tumulL  of  the  firo  was  in  Iiis 
curs  us  hu  rost  .s|)luttuiin<,r  from  tho  wuter  of 
Lost  Creek,  uiid  piilkMl  Yineent  above  tho 
wurfuee.  With  the  cold  i>lunge,  tlie  city  buy 
hud  quite  recovered  his  senses.  Uo  stood  up, 
stured,  reeoy-ni/ed  his  rescuer,  und  reniembe-.ed 
his  inunners  even  then:  — 

"Thiuik  you.  You  saved  my  life  I "  ]io 
shouted  ill  I'eter'.s  ear. 

"Saved  it!     Dyoii  ,s'i)oso  — " 

Tho  sentence  broke  oil'  because  both  boys 
had  plunged  their  heads,  so  intense  Avas  the 
hot  blast  that  ilcw  at  them.  When  they  canio 
up  Vincent  shouted:  — 

"I  said  you  saved  my  life.  You  were  about 
to  remark  —  " 

"liemark!"  roared  Peter.  "Saved  your 
life!  S'pose  you're  going  to  get  out  of  this 
alive  ?  " 

Dowu  M-ent  both  heads.  When  they  rose 
again  Vincent  shoutcfd:    — 

"We  are  in  rather  a  bad  hole,  but— " 

Under  thev  went  aijain. 

Nothing  more  was  said  for  what  seemed  a 
great  length  of  time.     The  boys  could  endure 


!    ■! 


M. 


SMOHr  UAYS. 


80 


tho  intense  lieat  but  for  an  instant.  Their 
heads  bobbed  out  only  that  they  njight  snatch 
a  breath.  At  sueli  moments  they  lieard  nauglit 
but  crashing  and  the  revelry  of  Hume. 


CHAPTER  III. 


FLAME   AND   AVATER. 


tl 


I     II 


Within  twenty  minutes  after  Peter  Arm- 
strong and  Vincent  Bracy  had  sprawled  into 
Lost  Creek  the  draught  from  the  forest  fire  Avas 
ahnost  straight  upward.  No  longer  did  vol- 
umes of  smoke,  sparks,  and  flame  stoop  to  the 
floor  of  the  woods,  rise  again  witli  a  shaking 
motion,  and  hurry  on  like  dust  before  a  tornado. 
But  smoke  rose  so  densely  from  decaying  leaf- 
mould  that  the  boys  could  see  but  dimly  the 
red  trunks  of  neighboring  trees.  Overhead 
was  a  sparkling  illumination  from  which  fiery 
scales  flew  with  incessant  crackling  and  fre- 
quent reports  loud  as  pistol  shots. 

Out  of  the  layer  of  clear  air  close  to  the 
creek's  cool  surface  the  boys  could  not  raise 
their  heads  without  suffocation.  They  squatted, 
staring  into  one  anotlier's  fire-reddened  faces. 
Deep  edges  of  leaf-mould  on  the  creek's  banks 

40 


SMOKY  BAYS. 


41 


glowered  like  two  thick  bands  of  red-liot 
iron. 

"  Boo-oo !  It's  cold,"  said  Peter,  with  chat- 
tering tee  til. 

"Yes,  I'm  shivering,  too.  Rather  awkward 
scrape,"  replied  Vincent. 

"  It's  freeze  in  the  water,  or  choke  and  burn 
out  of  it." 

Their  heads  were  steaming  again,  and  down 
they  plunged. 

"  See  the  rabbits !  And  just  look,  at  the 
snakes  !  "  cried  Peter,  rising. 

"  The  creek  is  alive ! "  Vincent  moved  his 
head  out  of  the  course  of  a  mink  that  swam 
straight  on. 

Brown  hares,  now  in,  now  out  of  the  water, 
moved  crazily  along  the  shallow  edges;  land 
snakes  writhed  by;  chipmunks,  red  squirrels, 
miidvs,  wood  rats — all  went  down  stream  at 
intervals  between  their  distracted  attempts  to 
find  refuge  under  the  fire-crowned  shores.  Tlie 
boys  dipped  and  looked  again. 

"  The  smoke  is  lifting,"  said  Vincent. 

'•  If  it'd  only  let  us  stand  up  long  enough  to 
get  warm  all  over !  "  said  Peter. 


42 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


W 

:|,; 


i- 


Down  went  their  heads. 

"  You  do  think  you're  goin'  to  get  out  of  this 
alive?"  inquired  Peter,  as  they  looked  round 


agani. 


"The    menagerie    has     a     plan."      Vincent 
pointed  to  the  small  creatures  moving  past. 
"  Plan  !     No  !  no  plan.     They're  just  movin' 


on. 


"Let's  move  witli  them." 

"  Can't  walk  squattin',  can  ye  ?  " 

"  We  can  soon  stand  up." 

"  Then  we'll  bile." 

"  Then  we'll  dip." 

"Well,  you're  good  stuff.  We'll  push  for 
the  Brazeau.  But  I  don't  expect  we'll  get 
there." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Man,  it  must  ho  thirty  mile  by  this  creek ! 
S'pose  we  could  wade  ten  miles  a  day !  D'ye 
think  you're  goin'  to  stand  three  days'  shiveriii' 
and  roastin'?  Cracky,  it's  hot!"  and  they 
plunged  down  again. 

"IMore'n  that,"  said  Peter,  rising  from  his 
dip,  "there  ain't  no  kuowin'  where  this  creek 
goes  to." 


II 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


43 


"  It  goes  down  hill,  and  it  must  reach  the 
Brazeau  somewhere.  Perhaps  within  twenty- 
miles." 

"S'pose  it  does?  What  you  goin'  to  do  to 
sleep  and  eat  ?  No  livin'  'thout  eatin',  I  guess. 
This  fire'll  burn  fierce  for  three  days.  No 
gettin'  through  the  woods  for  a  week." 

"  But  it  may  rain  heavily." 

"  Yas  ?     Mebby  it'll  rain  pork  and  bread." 

"  Or  chipmunks  and  squirrels,"  Bracy  pointed 
to  the  swimming  creatures. 

"  Jimimy,  that's  so  1  We  might  catch  some 
of  'em.     Cracky,  my  head's  burnin'  again !  " 

Down  they  went. 

"  We  might  stand  up.  The  smoke  has  risen 
a  good  deal,"  said  Vincent,  after  ten  minutes 
more. 

"  Wadin's  better'n  standin',"  remarked  Pete, 
so  they  began  to  march  with  the  procession. 

Though  the  heat  was  still  intense,  it  did  not 
now  fly  in  blasts.  On  rising  they  steamed 
quickly,  and  dipped  again  and  again.  Occa- 
sionally they  saw  far  into  the  burning  region, 
where  the  trunks  of  dry  trees  glowed  fiercely. 
The  living  pines  were  no  longer  clothed  with 


44 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


columns  of  flame,  for  the  resinous  portions  of 
thoir  outer  bark  had  been  consumed.  But  from 
their  denuded  tops  sparks  blew  upward  inces- 
santly, while  branches  swayed,  snapped,  and 
sometimes  fell. 

The  up-draught  could  no  longer  carry  away 
the  heavier  brands.  Some  wavered  down  into 
the  creek,  tliat  soon  became  covered  with  a  scum 
of  lialf-burned  bark  and  ashes,  through  which 
the  swimming  creatures  made  little  gleaming 
lanes. 

Flame  moved  continually  to  and  fro  on  the 
forest  floor,  now  dwindling,  then  rising  suddenly 
from  new-found  pyres,  always  searching  insa- 
tiably for  fuel.  The  roar  of  hurrying  fire  had 
ceased,  but  the  sounds  of  crackling  and  crash- 
ing branches  were  so  great  that  the  boys  became 
lioarse  Avith  shouting  their  remarks. 

Then  dumbly  they  pursued  their  journey  of 
the  night  through  fifteen  hundred  square  miles 
of  fire.  Across  the  glaring  brook  they  saw  one 
another  as  dream  figures,  with  fire-reddened 
faces  against  a  burning  world.  For  what 
seemed  many  hours  tliey  marched  thus  in  the 
water.    Splashing,  wading,  often  plunging,  they 


SMOKT  DAYS. 


45 


of 
m 

is- 
id 

;o 
n 
h 


staggered  on  in  various  agonies  until  Peter's 
hrain,  tired  by  his  daj'S  and  nights  of  watching 
for  falling  brands  in  his  father's  clearing,  whirled 
in  the  low  fever  of  fatigue.  The  smoke-wraiths, 
as  he  stared  at  the  encompassing  fire,  drifted 
into  mocking,  mowing,  beckoning  forms,  and 
with  increasing  difficulty  he  summoned  his  rea- 
son against  the  delusions  that  assailed  his  soul. 

Young  Bracy,  accustomed  to  long  marches 
and  having  rested  well  the  previous  night, 
retained  his  clear  mind,  and  watched  his  tall 
companion  with  the  care  of  a  brother. 

"He  risked  his  life  for  mine,"  Vincent  felt 
deeply,  and  accepted  the  comradeship  with  all 
his  steady  heart.  He  guided  Peter,  he  guarded 
him,  he  did  not  despair  utterly,  and  yet  to  him 
it  seemed,  as  that  strange  night  went  on,  tliat 
the  walk  through  fire  had  been  longer  than  all 
his  previous  life.  He  was  in  a  deepening  dreamy 
dread  that  thus  they  must  march  till  they  could 
march  no  more,  when  Peter,  wild  to  look  upon 
something  else  than  flame-lit  water,  went  aside 
and  climbed  the  bank.  That  newly  roused  Vin- 
cent; he  crossed  the  creek  and  ascended,  too. 
Up  there  the  heat  was  more  intense,  the  smoke 


46 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


E.- 


f  1 


more  pungent,  the  ground  burning.  They 
kicked  up  black  ashes,  saw  sparks  start  as 
in  smouldering  straw,  and  jumped,  half-scalded 
with  steam  from  their  clotliing,  back  to  the 
bed  of  the  stream. 

"  It's  dreadful  work,  Peter ! "  said  Vincent, 
taking  the  young  pioneer's  arm. 

"  We're  done,  I  guess.  But  it  would  be 
mean  to  give  up.  We'll  push  on's  long's  we 
can.  Say  —  when  I  drop,  you  push  on.  Never 
mind  mo.     No  use  us  both  dyin'." 

"  We  shall  stick  together,  Peter,"  Vincent 
replied  stoutly.  "  We  shall  pull  through.  See, 
the  banks  are  getting  liighor.  The  water  is 
running  faster.  We  shall  reach  a  gully  soon 
Brtd  get  rest." 

l*eter  laughed  hysterically  at  the  prediction, 
and  screamed  derision  at  it ;  but  the  words 
roused  some  liope  in  his  heart.  He  bent  his 
gaze  to  watch  the  contours  of  the  l)anks.  They 
were  cert;  y  rising  higher  above  the  water. 
Gradually  die  creek  descended.  Wlien  they 
had  passed  down  a  long,  shallow,  brawling 
rapid,  the  fire-forest  was  twenty  feet  higher 
than  their  heads.     They  no  longer  needed  to 


gSS'Vj««n>«KflJ^T«Tr 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


47 


dip    often.     In    the    hot    night    their   clothing 
rapidly  dried. 

"Hello!  Wliere  is  the  procession?"  cried 
Vincent.  The  boys  stared  far  along  the  water. 
Not  a  snake,  chipmnnk,  squirrel,  mink,  nor  any 
other  wild  refugee  was  to  be  seen. . 

"  They've  gone  in  under  the  banks.  We  ca:i 
stop,  too,"  said  I'eter. 

"No.  Too  many  branches  falling,  Peter. 
Let  us  push  on  to  a  lower  place." 

"  I  won't !  I'm  going  to  sit  down  right 
liere." 

"  Well,  but  look  out  for  the  brnnches.  They 
ai"e  falling — whopping  l)ig  ones  too,  in  every 
direction.  No  cliance  to  sleep  yet.  Trees  may 
be  crashing  down  here  befoi-e  morning.  We 
must  go  lower." 

"The  hunger  is  sore  on  me.  If  we'd  on'y 
catched  some  of  them  squirrels  !  " 

"  I've  got  a  cou^jle  of  liard-tack  in  my  pocket. 
They  are  soaked,  but  all  the  l)etter  for  that." 
He  brought  several  handfuls  of  pulp  from  the 
breast  pocket  of  Ids  ])elted  blouse.  While  Peter 
devoured  his  sliare,  Vincent  ate  a  few  morsels 
and  put  the  rest  back  in  his  pocket. 


48 


SMOK  r  DA  VS. 


m 


I 


"  You're  not  eating,"  said  reter. 

"  I  shall  need  it  more  before  morniiirr." 

"  There  won't  be  no  morning  for  you  and  me. 
Is  it  all  gone  ?  " 

"  No.  We'll  share  the  rest  when  we  stop  for 
tlie  night.     Come  on,  Peter;  you'll  die  here." 

"I  won't!  I'll  sleep  right  here,  die  or  no 
die." 

Peter  stretched  himself,  steaming  slowly,  on 
the  pebbles.  The  ruddy  fire  shone  on  his  up- 
turned face  anci  closed  eyes.  Vincent  looked 
dowji  on  him  meditatively.  lie  was  casting 
about  for  words  that  would  rouse  the  young 
pioneer. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  your  mother  is  doing 
now?"  cried  Vincent,  sharpl3^ 

But  Peter  had  instantly  fallen  asleep.  Vin- 
cent stooped,  shook  him  powerfully  by  the 
shoulder,  and  repeated  the  question  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  :  — 

"What  do  you  think  your  mother  is  doing 
now?" 

Peter  sat  up. 

"  Burnt !  Burnt  out,  as  sure  as  we're  here  ! " 
he  cried.    "  The  barn '11  be  gone.    We're  ruined ! 


8M0KV  DAYS. 


49 


le. 
or 

10 

>ii 

l>" 
id 

S 
S 


And  mother's  out  in  tho  night.  My  soul,  liow 
could  I  forget  her  I  I  was  dazed  by  tlie  fire. 
They'll  tliink  I'm  burned.  I'm  afeard  it  will 
kill  mother.  She'll  bo  lying  in  tho  root  house. 
They'd  run  there  when  tho  house  catehed." 

Ilis  distress  was  such  that  Vincent  almost 
regretted  the  artifice  he  liad  employed. 

"It's  likely  everything  at  your  homo  is  all 
right,  Peter,"  ho  said.  "  I've  seen  a  hill  fire 
like  this  flaming  for  days,  and  nothing  burned 
below  in  the  valleys.  The  wind  seemed  to 
blow  up  to  tho  high  fire  from  all  sides 
below." 

"Yes  — nobody  can  tell  what  a  bush  fire'll 
do,"  said  Peter.  "  Mebby  mother  is  all  right. 
Mebby  the  hay  ain't  gone.  lUit  they'll  all  be 
worn  out  with  fear  for  me.  Come  on.  If  the 
creek  goes  on  like  this,  we  may  reach  the 
Brazcau  to-morrow." 

"  It's  eleven  o'clock  now,"  said  Vincent,  look- 
ing at  his  watch.  "  I'm  nearly  tired  out,  myself. 
We  shall  go  on  all  the  faster  for  sleeping. 
Hello  —  what's  that  ?  ~  a  fall  ?  " 

The  sound  of  brawling  water  came  faintly. 
Descending  quickly,  they  soon  reached  a  place 


50 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


i 


i! 


i 


wlicro  tho  creek  appeared  to  pour,  by  a  succes- 
sion of  cascades,  into  a  deep  chasm.  Helo\v, 
they  could  see  nothing,  except  tlie  gleam  of  dis- 
tant Avater,  as  flaming  brands  swayed  down  and 
down  from  the  plateau  now  fifty  feet  over  their 
heads. 

Hero  the  co[)ing  of  the  1)anks  overhung  a 
little.  All  about  the  boys  lay  brusliwood  that 
had  ])een  left  l»y  spring  Hoods.  Peter,  seizing  a 
piece  of  dry  cedar,  flung  off  long  splinters  witli 
his  big  hunting  knife.  When  enough  for  two 
torches  liad  l)een  accunudated,  tlie  boys  searched 
for  a  route  down.  In  five  minutes  they  were  a 
hundred  feet  below  the  top  of  the  I  lump. 

"Why,  here's  a  good  path,"  cried  Vincent. 

"Great  place  for  bears,"  said  Peter,  closely 
examining  it.  "  If  we're  goin'  to  stop,  we'd  l)et- 
ter  stop  riglit  liere.  The  gully  l)elow  may  be 
full  of  bears  and  wolves.  They'd  be  drove  out 
of  the  woods  and  down  the  gully  before  tlie  fire." 

"  Let's  make  a  fire  to  keep  them  away  from 
us,"  said  Vincent. 

"  No  need.     No  beasts  will  come  niffh." 

"  But  some  may  be  coming  down  after  us  as 
we  did,  for  safety." 


KTCEri:s*-5ESBE!»29 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


61 


"  No  !  Tliey'tl  Inirrow  under  the  bank  back 
there.  No  fear  of  tliem,  anyhow.  Tliey'd  bo 
too  scared  to  bother  us.     But  a  fire  won't  do  no 

Finding'  no  brands  handy,  they  lit  shavings 
from  the  matches  in  their  little  water-tight,  tin 
boxes,  piled  on  the  heaviest  driftwood  they  could 
find,  and  lay  down  on  a  Hat  rock  partly  under 
the  bank.  In  a  few  minutes  both  fell  asleep 
to  the  clashing  of  the  cascades. 

Brands  fell  and  died  out  near  them ;  their 
bivouac  fire  became  gray ;  dawn  struggled  with 
the  gloom  overhead  till  the  smoke  ceased  to 
look  red  from  below,  and  became  murky  in 
the  sunless  morning.  Still  the  tired  boys  slept 
.v'ell. 

But  by  eight  o'clock  they  had  descended  tlio 
rocky  hill  down  whieh  t^'e  cascades  jumped,  and 
were  gazinj  at  hundreds  of  trout  congregated 
in  the  clear  long  pool  below. 

"  There's  plenty  of  breakfast  if  we  could  only 
catch  it,  Peter,"  said  Vincent. 

"Catchin'  them  trout  ain't  no  trouble,"  said 
Peter,  taking  command.  "  You  go  down  yonder 
and  whale  on  the  water  with  a  stick.     Fll  whale 


52 


8M0KV  DATS. 


I   I 


up  here.     We'll  drive  a  lot  of  'em   into   the 
shaller." 

"But  how  can  you  catch  thorn  without  liook 
or  lino?" 

"  Leave  nio  alone  for  that.  I've  got  a  liook 
and  line  ii!  my  pocket,  Imt  that'd  be  slow." 

Aa  tliey  thrashed  the  water  Avliilo  approaching 
one  another,  many  of  the  crowded  and  frantic 
trout-ran  almost  ashore.  Rushing  among  them, 
Peter  kicked  vigorously  at  each  step  forward. 
Two  fish  flew  far  up  the  bank.  Three  more 
were  thus  thrown  out.  Sev*  il  ran  ashore. 
Vincent  flung  himself  on  these  before  they 
could  wriggle  back. 

They  split  the  fisli  open,  skewered  them  flat 
on  sticks,  and  broiled  them  "  Indian  fashion  "  in 
the  smoke  and  blaze  from  a  fire  of  dry  wood. 
Having  thus  breakfasted,  they  considered  what 
to  do. 

Going  back  was  out  of  the  question.  Fire 
was  raging  two  hundred  feet  above  them,  and 
for  unknown  leagues  in  every  direction.  Their 
only  course  was  down  the  deep  gully  of  the 
creek. 

By  eleven   o'clock,   having  walked  steadily 


SMOKY   DAYS. 


58 


along  tlio  Lost  Creek's  now  easy  descent,  they 
found  tlio  crags  overhead  so  closely  approaching 
that  the  gorge,  now  little  illuminated  from  the 
burning  forest,  became  ever  more  gloomy.  At 
last  the  sides  of  the  ravine,  when  more  than 
three  hundred  feet  above  them,  came  together 
as  a  roof. 

The  boys  stood  at  tho  entrance  to  a  narrow 
cavern.  Into  tliis  high  tunnel,  roughly  shaper? 
like  p.  ^^-reatly  elongated  V  turned  upside  down, 
the  creek,  eow  fed  to  a  considerable  volume  by 
rivLil;  's  tl'ii :  had  danced  down  the  2)rccipice8, 
clattv''e(l  v/ith  loud  reverberation. 

'*\vnat  wo  goin'  to  do  now?  Seems  we're 
stu(;k  at  last,"  said  i'eter. 

"  Let's  see.  This  is  where  the  creek  is  lost. 
The  question  is,  Where  does  it  come  out?" 

"  We're  in  a  bad  fix.  There's  no  goin'  back 
till  the  bush-fire's  done." 

"Well  —  wo  can  live  here  for  a  few  days. 
Plenty  of  trout  in  that  last  pool." 

"But  there  ain't  no  Armstrongs  in  it!  I'm 
wild  to  get  home.  Lord,  Lord,  what's  happened 
to  mother?  I  tell  you  I'm  just  crazy  to  get 
back  homo  and  see." 


54 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


3 

i 

I 


Vi 


W' 


t  1 


"  You  must  bo,  Peter.  So  we  must  jdusIi  on  if 
possible.  No  use  trying  to  get  up  to  the  top  of 
this  ravine.  It's  all  fire  up  there  on  both  sides. 
Well,  let  us  explore  the  cave.  We  can  always 
lincl  our  way  back.     Wo  will  take  torches." 

"  Did  you  see  a  creek  coming  out  of  a  place 
like  this  when  you  came  up  the  river  to  our 
clearing  ?  " 

"No,  but  there's  one  coming  out  of  a  cave 
away  down  below  Kelly's  Crossing." 

"  Yes,  I  know.     But  this  ain't  that  one." 

"No,  of  course  not.  It  is  likely  this  creek 
runs  out  some  distance  before  reaching  the  IJra- 
zeau.  Perhaps  the  cave  is  not  a  long  one. 
We're  safe  to  explore,  at  any  rate." 

"  Do  you  mind  the  bears'  pjith  up  back  there  ? 
There's  room  for  all  the  bears  on  the  Brazeau 
in  there  ahead  of  us,"  said  Peter. 

"Our  torches  will  scare  them  worse  than 
they'll  scare  us.  And  I've  got  my  revolver 
still." 

"  Say !  I  forgot  to  ask  you  ;  did  you  fire 
two  shots  just  before  the  fire  started  in  the 
woods  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  at  a  partridge.     Missed  him." 


'7imti^^i 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


65 


if 
)f 

s. 

'a 

0 

ir 


"  Then  yon  started  the  fire !  " 

"No!  It  came  roaiing  along  a  mmute  after 
that,  though." 

"Started  itself — that's  gen'lly  the  way,"  said 
Peter.  "  Well,  s'pose'ii  Ave  have  dinner,  and  go 
in  after." 

They  cooked  more  trout,  supplied  them- 
selves with  bunches  of  split  cedar,  and  stood 
peering  into  the  entrance  of  the  cavern,  both  a 
little  daunted  by  the  absolute  darkness  into 
which  the  stream  brawled.  By  anticipation, 
they  had  the  eerie  sensation  of  moving  through 
the  bowels  of  a  mountain.  So  high  and  dark 
and  awful  was  the  narrow  tunnel !  So  insiirnifi- 
cant  felt  the  boys  beneath  its  toppling  walls ! 

"Here  goes,"  said  Vincent,  and  marched 
ahead. 

For  some  minutes  the  creek's  bed  was  such 
as  it  had  been  since  they  left  the  cascades  — 
gravel  bottom  alternating  with  rocks,  and  little 
pools  that  tliey  walked  easily  around.  Wliat 
was  high  above  could  not  be  seen,  for  the 
torches  found  no  reflections  up  there  on  the 
cavern's  roof. 

Instead  of  the  reverberation  increasing,  it  les- 


5G 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


m 


f 


I 


t 


seiicd  as  tliey  went  on.  The  brook  babbled  to 
tlicm  to  advance,  and  now  there  was  a  singular 
trembling  of  the  air  in  which  a  swashing  and 
pouring  sound  could  be  lieard. 

"  Got  plenty  of  room  over  there  ?  "  cried  Peter, 
from  the  left  or  nortli  bank. 

"Yes,  there's  ten  feet  of  shore  here.  Cross 
if  you're  crowded." 

"  I  will.     There's  no  room  on  this  side." 

As  Peter  lowered  his  torch  to  peer  at  the 
water,  in  which  he  was  about  to  step  that  he 
miglit  cross  it,  he  saw  that  the  stream  broke 
hito  a  chute  a  little  further  on.  Now  Vincent 
had  slopped  to  await  his  comrade. 

The  pioneer  boy  entered  the  water  at  the 
ra])id's  head,  where  he  expected  to  find  the 
usual  shallow.  But  at  the  first  step  the  cur- 
rents rushed  about  his  knees.  Peter  half  stan-- 
gei-ed,  found  a\  hat  he  thought  would  serve  for 
forward  footing,  threw  his  Aveiglit  on  it,  slippcfl 
as  from  a  boulder,  and  went  down.  Ilis  torch 
"  sizzed  "  and  disappeared.  Vincent  darted  for- 
ward with  a  c]y. 

As  Peter,  struggling  to  reach  liis  feet,  drifted 
a  little,  he  felt  himself  suddenly  caught  as  by  a 


re      i 


SMOKV  DAYS. 


57 


strong  millrace,  and  was  hurriod  away  into  the 
blackness  of  darkness.  Vincent  Bracy,  swing- 
ing his  torch,  ran  on  almost  blindly  and  at  full 
speed,  till  he  collided  with  a  wall  of  rock  and 
fell  backward.  His  fallen  torch  went  out  just 
as  Peter,  now  fifty  feet  down  stream,  righting 
himself,  struck  out  to  swim  across  the  current. 
With  a  few  strokes  he  touched  the  rock  aixd 
strove  to  grasp  it,  but  his  hand  slipped  and 
slipped  against  a  straight  and  slimy  rise. 

The  pioneer  boy,  now  wholly  unable  to  see 
the  space  in  which  he  was  struggling,  put  down 
his  feet,  but  touched  no  bottom.  Swimming  to 
the  other  side,  he  found  the  channel  but  a  few 
yards  wide.  There,  too,  he  grasped  vainly-for  a 
hold.  The  water  quite  filled  the  space  between 
the  rock  walls.  He  turued  on  his  back  and 
floated.  The  aniazing,  cairn  rapid  swept  liim 
swiftly  on. 

And  so,  tlirough  what  seemed  a  long  and 
smooth  stone  slide,  but  once  interrupted  by 
broken  water,  Peter,  while  Vincent  lay  sense- 
less in  the  cave,  was  carried  away  feet  first  as 
corpses  go  from  the  world  to  the  grave. 


i 


;  i, 


r 


CHAPTER   TV. 

EAIN  n^  THE  BKAZEAU. 

All  niglit  ai)d  dl  forenoon  rain  liad  poured, 
while  the  pious  folk  of  the  back  country  of  the' 
Bip:  Brazeau  blessed  God  that  lie  had  saved 
them  from  the  tires  of  the  forest.  liivalets 
clattered  down  tlie  rocky  sides  of  the  Hump; 
the  Brazeau  Avaved  in  hicreasing  volume;  and 
a  hundred  wild  tiibutaries  tint^ed  the  great 
Ottawa  with  turbidity  that  slowly  mhigled  in 
its  brown  central  volume. 

Dnmb  creatuj-es  rejoiced  witli  men  in  the 
moist  coolness  after  so  long  a  period  of  drought, 
smoke,  and  ilame.  Ducks  squawked  satisfaction 
with  new-filled  farm  ponds  ;  cattle,  horses,  even 
hens  forsook  shelter  as  if  they  could  not  have 
too  much  assurance  of  the  rain's  actuality; 
draggled  rats,  flooded  from  tlieir  holes,  scurried 
away  as  girls  with  petticoats  over  their  heads 
went  to  the  milking.     By  noon  on  the  second 

OH 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


59 


day  after  Peter  Armstrong  and  Vincent  Bracy 
had  started  for  Kelly's  Crossing,  tlie  rain  had 
diminished  to  a  drizzle  that  promised  to  con- 
tinue long.  Still  Lost  Creek  brawled  enlarged 
into  the  cavern,  and  still  the  forest  on  the 
Hump  smouldered  and  poured  up  blue  smoke 
to  the  sky. 

David  Armstrong's  cabin  and  barn  stood 
intact;  all  in  the  clearing  were  still  alive,  for 
the  high  lire  had  blown  far  across  the  river 
without  di';)p[)ing  many  coals  into  the  opening 
of  tillage  by  the  Hump's  side.  lUit  the  strain 
of  watching  for  Peter  had  brought  his  mother 
close  to  the  grave. 

"  I'm  not  to  say  exactly  dying.  But  I'm 
tired,  Davy,  tired  to  bo  alive.  It's,  oh,  for 
Peter,  poor,  poor  Pete,"  she  wailed  without 
tears,  lying  motionless  on  her  rnstling  bed. 

Mary  was  frying  a  pan  of  pork  on  the  out- 
door stove.  Ann  Susan  and  Eliza  Jane,  brisk 
with  the  fresh  air  after  rain,  played  on  the 
cal)in  floor,  and  watched  the  cooking  with  inter- 
est. When  Mary  brought  in  the  frizzling  food, 
David  Armstrong  did  not  rise  from  beside  his 
wife's  bed. 


60 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


;'    i 


"Oivo  the  young  ones  their  bite  and  their 
sup,^  Mary.  Muhhy  I'll  feel  to  set  in  after  a 
bit,"  she  said. 

"  Taivo  your  dinner,  Davy,"  naid  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, trying  to  release  her  thin,  hard  hand. 
"Eat  a  bite,  do.  It's  not,  tlie  sorrow  that  will 
strcngtlien  you  to  get  out  them  rails  for  build- 
ing up  the  bnrned  fences." 

"No,  Hannah,  but  I  misdoubt  I  can't  eat. 
Tliem  molasses  and  l-i-ead  I  oat  at  breakfast 
has  «tayed  by  me  good." 

"  Ikit  you've  got  to  keep  alive,  Davy." 
"  Yes.  a  man's  got  to  live  til]  his  time  comes 
--thG  hunger  will  come  back  on  me,  so  it  will, 
and  it's  druv  to  eat  he  is.     But  God  help  us  — 
it's  to  think  we'll  see  Peter  no  jpore  !  " 

The  woman  lying  on  the  bed  pressed  her  fore- 
head down  on  his  hand,  and  so  they  remained, 
close   together,  while    Mary  fed   the   children. 
Tears  were  running  down  the  pioneer's  cheeks, 
thus  furrowed  often  that  day  and  the  day  be- 
fore.    But  the  mother  could  not  weep. 
"I  yant  Pete,"  whined  Ann  Susan. 
At   that  the   lump  of  agony  rose   in  Arm- 
strong's throat;  lie  could  not  trust  himself  to 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


61 


s[)cak,  though  he  wished  to  ouler  the  chihl  to 
ho  sQeiit.  Mary  struggled  with  her  sobs  as  she 
listened. 

"  I  yant  Pete,"  said  Ann  Susan  again. 

*'  Peter  is  dead !  I  wisht  he'd  come  back 
quick/'  said  Eliza  Jane. 

INIary  had  vainly  tried  to  make  the  children 
understand  what  had  become  of  the  big  brother. 

"  I  yant  Pete,"  persisted  tlio  younger. 

"  Peter's  gone  away  dead.  lie's  burned  up. 
I  wisht  he'd  come  and  ride  me  on  his  foot," 
returned  Eliza  Jane. 

"  ril  ride  you,"  said  Mary. 

"  No,  I  want  Peter !  " 

"  Hush,  dear  —  poor  brother  Peter  won't  come 
back  no  more." 

"  Let  'em  talk,  Mary,"  said  the  wof  ul  mother. 
"  Poor  little  things  —  they  help  me.  Oh,  I  want 
Peter,  too." 

She  sprang  up,  sitting,  and  broke  into  wild 
lamentation. 

"  Oh  Peter,  if  you'd  come  back  and  kiss  me 
good-bye  !  Why  couldn't  you  wake  me  when  he 
was  going  away?  Fd  'a'  stopped  him.  Thirty 
mile !     Thirty  mile  and   back  —  and  the  bush 


62 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


afire!  —  only  to  fetch  a  cup  of  tea  foi-  his 
mother!  I  —  I  —  my  son's  blood  cries  out  of 
the  woods  against  me  !  " 

"No,  Jliiiinali,  no,  don't  talk  on  that  way 
again.  It  was  me  that  let  him  go.  AVho'd  'a' 
thought  iire  would  'a'  started  up  the  llump?" 

"Oh,  no,  Davy,  ] — me  —  crying  like  mad 
for  tea !  Oh,  my  God  !  —  liow  you  can  want 
me  to  go  on  livin*!  And  Peter  up  there  — 
burned  black  in  the  smoke  under  the  rain! 
Such  a  good  boy  —  always  —  strong  and  good. 
Tliere  ain't  no  mother  got  a  helpfulier  boy  nor 
my  Peter.  Davy,  what  you  s'pose  I  was  tlnnkin' 
all  them  days  sinst  the  hay  was  got  in — and  the 
big  prices  there  is?  I  was  hiyin'  out  how  we 
could  give  Peter  a  Avinter's  schoolin'  in  1o  the 
settlements.  Yes  — he'll  learn  quick.  Oh,  if  I 
wasn't  always  so  tired,  what'd  I  do  for  my  Pete." 

She   lay   still    a   long   time   before   speaking 


agani. 


"  You'll  miss  me  sore,  Davy,"  she  whispered. 
*'  It  won't  be  long  now." 

"No,  Ilaimah,  don't  say  it.  You'll  not  leave 
me,  Hannah." 

"Ay  —  sore  you'll   miss  me,  Davy  dear — I 


f'^V 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


63 


know  how  Fd  'a'  missed  you.  Old  and  gray 
we've  got,  and  once  we  was  young  together. 
Davy,  don't  you  understand  ?  Don't  talk  on. 
1  want  to  be  with  my  boy." 

The  nian  clutched,  sobbed,  and  choked  for 
breath.  Mary  went  to  the  bed,  and  clasped 
her  arms  about  her  parents'  necks. 

"  Yes  —  you're  good  at  lovin'  your  mother," 
tlie  poor  woman  went  on.  "All  of  them  is. 
God  bless  them  for  it!  They  give  me  what  I 
wanted  more  than  all.  Sore  you'll  miss  me, 
too,  Mary,  and  you  fendin'  for  them  all  alone. 
I  wisht  I  could  stay.  You'll  tell  Peter — no,  I 
was  forgetting  —  but  there  is  a  chance,  ain't 
there?     There's  a  eJuince / '" 

"Yes,  Hannah.  S'posin'  he  was  at  the 
creek.  Or  the  fue  might  'a'  jumped  over  a 
wide  place?" 

"  Many's  the  day  and  many's  the  night  and 
many's  the  year  Peter's  heart'U  be  glad  thinkin' 
liow  he  went  thirty  mile  and  out  for  tea  for 
his  mother,"  she  said,  as  if  dreaming.  They 
thoucfht  she  was  faintinn-.  But  the  vision  of 
licr  son  m  the  burning  forest  returned  to  her 
mind. 


'.I 


'.1 ' 


n 


ft 


G4 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


1  ■■ 


I .("      i    t" 
\i       i    M 

is;        3 


Then,  with  changed  voice,  rising  on  her 
elhow:  — 

"  '        .  if  on'y  we  could  find  his  bones  !  " 

*'  I'll  start  first  thin<'  to-morrow,  Hannah." 

"  A\\  night  again  I'll  be  thinking  of  the  rain 
fallin'  on  him  lyin'  there  in  the  smoke.  Rain 
and  rain  and  rain  and  IIAIN  —  it  come  too  lato 
to  save  my  bor  I " 

"  Think  ot  the  chances,  Hannah.  Maybe  ho 
ain't  dead  at  all." 

"  He  is  —  I  seen  him  lyin'  there  too  plain. 
Peter  won't  never  come  no  more  ! " 

"  Peter  won't  never  tum  no  more,"  repeated 
Eliza  Jane. 

*'  I  yant  Pete,"  said  Ann  Susan,  firmly. 

"  Give  them  to  me,"  said  the  mother.  Tak- 
ing tlie  little  girls  in  her  arms,  shv.  lay  still, 
thinking  how  soon  Mary  must  mother  them. 

The  children,  awed  by  the  silent  passion  with 
which  she  strained  them  to  her  })reaking  lieart, 
lay  still,  breathing  uneasily,  with  their  faces 
close  tc  her  bosom. 

After  a  time  the  sense  that  they  were  suffer- 
•  g  came  to  th*.  poor  m  ther,  and  she  held  them 
mure  loosely.     Then  her  brain  began  to  woik  on 


ili.. 


SMOKY  DATS. 


66 


4 


the  possibilities  of  Peter's  escape.  The  woman 
had  to  hope  or  die,  and  her  vitality  was  still 
active.  Absorbed,  she  had  again  clutched  close 
the  wondering  infants,  when  strange  voices  out- 
side the  door  recalled  her  fully  to  her  sei  >cs. 

"Hey!  Who's  these  men?  Why,  here's 
that  surveyin'  boy !     No,  it's  another  one." 

A  man,  and  a  youth  clad  as  Vincent  Bracy 
had  been,  but  taller,  came  up  the  steps  into  the 
cabin.     The  youth  was  Vincent's  rodman. 

"  I  have  a  letter  for  you,  Mr.  Armstrong,"  he 
said.     '  Tt's  about  your  son." 

The  mother  rose,  and  stood  staggering. 

"Where's  Peter?"  she  cried. 

"I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Armstrong.  The  ^ otter 
—  it's  from  Mr.  Bracy.  He  and  Peter  went 
through  tlie  fire  together." 

"  The  fire  didn't  get  them  ?  " 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Oil,  thank  God,  thank  God !  I  can  stand  it 
if  he's  not  dead  that  \  ay.  But  whero  is  he? 
Alive?" 

"  Bracy  hopes  so." 

"Peter's  lost,  then?" 

"He  is  —  in  a  way.     But  let  me  read  you 


66 


s^roKr  days. 


Mr.  Bracy's  story.  IIo  was  up  nearly  all  night 
writing  it.  IIo  thought  it  would  ease  your 
heart  to  know  all  about  it.  The  chiof  cngiuocM- 
sent  mo  up  on  purpose  that  you  should  know 
what  is  being  done." 

''He  didn't  desert  Peter,  then?  No  —  I'm 
sure." 

"  Not  much  !  They  were  separated  by  a 
strange  accident.  Listen."  He  began  reading 
the  letter. 

Vincent  had  written  out  pretty  fully  the  story 
of  his  march  with  Peter  down  Lost  Creek, 
through  the  fire  and  to  the  cavern's  mouth.  The 
letter  ^^■ont  on  :  — 

''When  I  picked  myself  up,  my  torch  was 
almost  out.  I  whirled  it  till  it  l)lazcd,  and  then 
saw  tliat  I  had  run  across  the  old  channel  of  the 
creek  and  again.st  a  solid  wall  of  rock  that  ran 
up  to  the  roof  of  the  cave,  I  suppose.  Peter 
was  gone  down  the  water  that  was  running 
within  two  yards  of  me.  All  I  heard  was  its 
rushing  into  the  passage  that  turned  to  the  left. 

"  At  that  j)lace,  the  cave  forks  like  a  Y.  The 
water  runs  down  the  left  arm  of  the  Y,  and  fills 
the  whole  space  between  the  high  walls  there. 


lilt 


5! 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


67 


\\ 


That  stream  looks  as  if  it  had  broken  down 
shintiiig  through  the  bod  of  its  couree  and  run 
into  the  left  arm  of  the  Y,  after  it  had  been 
running  into  the  right  arm  for  ages. 

"  I  was  lying  at  the  fork  of  the  Y,  in  the 
right-hand  passage,  while  Peter  had  been  swept 
away  down  the  other  passage  into  darkness." 

"He's  gone,  gone  forever!"  moaned  Mrs. 
Armstrong. 

The  young  rodman  read  on  in  Vincent's  let- 
ter: — 

"  When  I  got  up  and  tried  to  look  down  the 
passage  after  Peter,  I  heard  a  pouring  sound 
away  ahead  as  well  as  the  rushing  of  the  water. 
That  was  while  I  was  stoojnng  over.  The  pas- 
sago  I  was  in  was  wider  than  the  other,  and  I 
thought  it  must  lead  me  into  any  place  that 
Peter  could  be  carried  to.  The  other  cave, 
down  river  below  Kelly's  Crossing,  has  passages 
that  branch  and  come  together  again." 

"•  That's  so,"  said  the  pioneer. 

"  So  I  thought  it  best  to  follow  the  right- 
hand  passage  instead  of  going  in  after  Peter.  I 
hope  yon  will  see  that  I  did  not  wish  to  di'scrt 
him.     ]\Iy  idea  was  that  I  might  reach  him  soon, 


I 


t- 


OS 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


n 


I  .-.'fV 

I® 


and  if  he  was  in  any  distress,  I  might  be  all  the 
better  able  to  help  him  if  I  went  by  the  dry 
passage." 

"  lie  did  right,"  said  the  pioneer. 

"Vincent  would  be  glad  to  hear  you  say 
that,"  said  the  rodman.  "  He  was  greatly  dis- 
tressed by  his  miscalculation." 

"  Then  he  didn't  lind  Peter  again?"  cried  the 

mother. 

"He  will  lind  him.  "We  know  he  nuist  be 
still  in  the  cave.  Ten  men  went  up  before  day- 
light to  reach  him.  There's  reason  for  hope. 
Listen  again  to  Vincent's  letter :  I  lit  another 
bundle  of  cedars,  and  went  on.  Pretty  soon  the 
cavern  began  to  rattle  with  the  thunder  outside. 
The  air  vibrated  so  nnich  that  one  might  almost 
fear  the  cave  w^all  would  fall  in.  I  could  not 
see  a  flash  of  lightning  at  all.  How  long  I  went 
on  I  don't  know,  but  it  seemed  half  a  mile  or 
more.  My  last  torch  had  just  been  lighted  when 
1   had   a  great  scare,   and   saw   the   strangest 

sight ! 

"For  some  time  there  had  been  a  strong 
smell  as  of  wild  animals.  Suddenly  the  pas- 
sage in  front  of  me  seemed  alive  with  creatures 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


69 


that  snarled,  growled,  yelped,  and  ran.  Now 
you'll  understand  that  those  beasts  couldn't 
trouble  Peter.  He  went  with  the  stream  — 
they  had  been  forced  into  the  dry  passage  by 
the  fire.  And  they  were  much  afraid  of  my 
torch.  I  could  not  see  one  of  them  at  first  — 
there  was  nothing  but  blackness  and  the  yell- 
ing and  snarling.  It  grew  fainter  as  they  ran 
away,  without  looking  around,  for  I  never  saw 
a  glint  of  their  eyes. 

"At  last,  as  the  course  of  the  old  channol 
turned,  I  saw  da}'light  ahead  of  me,  and  a 
crowd  of  beasts  going  out  of  the  cave's  mouth. 
I  made  out  some  bears,  that  shuilled  along  at 
the  tail  of  the  procession,  but  I  could  not 
clearly  see  the  others.  But  I'm  pretty  sure 
there  were  wolves,  skunks,  and  wild-cats  in  the 
herd.  I  was  anxious  to  reach  daylight,  for  I 
supposed  I  should  see  Peter  out  there.  But 
when  I  reached  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  I  saw 
nothing  of  him  or  the  creek." 

"Peter's  lost!     We    shall  never  see  him!" 
said  his  mother. 

"  Yes,  you  will.     Listen  to  the  letter,"  said 
th§  rodman.      "Vincent  has  something  impor- 


m 


s'* 


70 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


tant  to  tell  of  that  he  heard  coming  through. 
He  says : 

"I  think  we  shall  find  Peter  to-morrow 
morning.  There  must  be  a  hole  from  the  pas- 
sage I  came  through  to  the  passage  he  went 
down.  The  reason  I  think  so  is  this:  Just 
where  I  stood  when  I  saw  the  an'mals  go  out 
of  the  cave's  mouth,  I  thought  I  heard  a  sound 
of  falling  water  —  that  must  have  been  the 
creek.  The  sound  seemed  to  come  from  above 
my  head.  Perhaps  I  had  passed  the  entrance 
to  another  corridor  without  noticing  it,  for  I 
was  a  good  deal  taken  up  with  fear  of  the 
beasts  ahead  of  me. 

"  We  are  going  as  soon  as  the  men  have  had 
a  sleep,  to  look  up  the  place  where  the  sound 
of  falling  water  came  from.  I  think  we  shall 
find  Peter  there,  for  if  he  had  come  through 
before  me,  or  soon  afterward,  I  should  have 
heard  liim  answering  to  my  shouts." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  looked  hopelessly 
at  each  other. 

"Vincent,"  said  the  rodman,  "was  so  tired 
that  he  seems  to  have  forgotten  to  write  out 
here  some  things  he  told  us  in  camp.     For  in- 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


71 


stance,  one  of  his  reasons  for  supposing  there 
must  be  a  passage  to  Peter  is  this :  the  floor  of 
the  passage  Vincent  came  through  began  to 
ascend  while  he  was  looking  at  and  following 
the  animals.  He  did  not  remember  where  he 
had  passed  off  the  gravel  and  sand  of  the  old 
bed  of  the  creek,  but  he  found  he  had  passed  off 
it  a  good  while  before  he  reached  the  open  air. 
After  he  began  to  think  of  something  besides 
the  beasts,  he  noticed  that  he  was  going  up  a 
slowly  rising  floor  of  rock,  where  no  water  had 
ever  run.  So  you  see  the  ancient  channel  of  the 
creek  turned  off  somewhere.  It  never  flowed 
Avhere  Vincent  came  out,  but  took  a  turn  to 
where  Peter  is.     You  can  understand  that  ?  " 

it  Yes  —  the  water  had  been  kind  of  stoi)ped 
by  the  rise  of  the  rock,  and  turned  off.,"  said 
Armstrong ;  "  and  the  idea  is  that  the  old  chan- 
nel the  water  used  to  follow  will  lead  yous  to 
where  Peter  went  by  the  channel  that  the  water 
foUers  now." 

"  Exactly,  that's  what  Vincent  thinks.  Now 
he  is  going,  or  rather  he  did  go  before  daylight 
with  ten  men,  to  look  up  that  passage  through 
w'nieh   the   sound  of  water   came.     He'll   find 


^K9^f 

y^^H 

■^^^1 

El 

i 

fff 

''•''^^B 

■K'  31 

'-  ^H^B 

Wfc"   hi 

-'  ^BH 

^B.f  ^^ 

'' ^^^H 

M  ^fl^B 

M8"    '^i 

'■P'  I^H 

K^ll^ 

cf'HBB 

^f 

'-^HH 

72 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


n  \ 


Peter,"  said  the  rodman,  confidently.  "But 
listen  —  you  may  as  well  hear  the  rest  of  his 
letter : — 

"  I  looked  for  the  place  where  the  creek  came 
out  of  the  mountain,  but  the  air  was  dark  with 
the  storm,  and  the  thunder  was  rattling.  So 
I  could  hear  no  water  running  except  the 
rai)ids  of  the  Brazeau  not  far  ahead.  I  thouglit 
I  had  better  go  to  camp  for  men.  So  I  climbed 
down  the  hill  to  the  river,  found  I  remembered 
the  banks  below,  and  went  about  four  miles 
down  stream  to  camp,  where  I  am  now.  To- 
morrow morning,  long  before  you  get  this  letter, 
I  will  find  Peter  if  I  have  to  follow  him  down 
the  chute." 

"  He  will  do  it,  too,"  said  the  rodman,  admir- 
ingly. "  The,  little  beggar  has  any  amount  of 
pluck.     He'll  risk  his  life  to  find  your  son." 

"Peter  is  dead  for  sure,"  said  his  hopeless 
mother. 

"  Well,  I  don't  b'leeve  it,  maw,"  said  Mary. 
"  Mr.  Bracy's  going  to  fetch  him  back  —  that's 
what  I  think." 

"  It  might  be  so,  Hannah,"  said  the  pioneer. 
"Where  you  two  jjoing?"  he  asked  of  the  rod- 


11  i    I 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


78 


man  and  axeman  who  had  come  with  Vincent's 
letter. 

"  Straight  back  to  camp." 

"  I'll  join  you,"  said  David  Armstrong. 

"There's  no  use.  Peter's  gone  —  he'd  be 
drownded  anyway,"  said  the  poor  mother,  with 
the  first  burst  of  tears  since  her  son  left. 

"  lie's  a  good  swimmer,  isn't  he  ?  "  asked  the 
rodnian. 

"  First-rate,"  said  Mary. 

"  Then  why  should  he  not  escape  ?  He'd  go 
through  a  big  rapid  safely.  What  was  the 
chute  but  a  smooth  rapid  in  the  dark?  Vin- 
cent will  find  hira." 

"  Dead !  "  said  the  mother. 

"  No  —  safe  and  sound." 

"  But  he'd  be  ent  up  by  the  bears," 

The  rodraan  looked  uneasy,  but  sp^ke  con- 
fidently :  — 

"Bears  won't  come  to  a  fire,  and  your  son 
had  his  watertight  match-box,  and  could  make 
a  fire  if  he  landed  down  below." 

"With  what?" 

"With  driftwood.  Vincent  says  there  was 
driftwood    along    the    banks    inside    the    cave 


\i 


I  ■^1 


i. 


Hi 

'hi 


\0 


i 


74 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


just  the   same  as  on  the  banks   outside   and 

above." 

"  It  might  be,"  said  the  mother,  striving  for 
hope.  "Oh,  mebby  my  son  will  come  back! 
Davy,"  she  whispered,  as  her  husband  re- 
appeared in  readiness  for  the  journey  down 
the  river,  "if  you  don't  find  him,  I'll  die.  I 
can't  keep  up  without  seeing  Peter  again. 
Carry  him  easy  if  he's  dead  — but  no,  I  daren't 
believe  but  he's  alive." 


Hi  • 


CHAPTER  V. 


IMPRISONED  IN  THE  CAVE. 

When  Peter  Armstrong,  with  all  his  senses 
about  him,  floated  on  his  back,  on  and  on  through 
the  cavern's  unmitigated  darkness,  down  the 
steep  slide  of  almost  unbroken  water,  he  was 
not  without  fear  of  the  unknown  before  him. 
But  the  fear  was  not  in  the  nature  of  despair 
—  rather  of  wonder.  A  stolid  conviction  that 
the  worst  which  could  befall  him  would  be  loss 
dreadful  than  the  fire-death  which  he  had  es- 
caped helped  to  console  the  young  pioneer. 

Wonder  predominated  in  his  mind— wonder 
.?t  the  smoothness,  swiftness,  and  length  of  the 
chute.  Tlds  wonder  had  almost  become  horror 
at  being  so  borne  on  '^nd  on  through  darkness, 
when  the  ci  irtnt  seei^ied  to  g^>  from  under  him, 
and  down  he  .;i.,bled,  head  over  heels,  into  a 
great  depth  of  bubbling  and  whirling  water. 

Its  currents  pulled  liim  this  way  and  that, 

75 


76 


S3I0KY  DAYS. 


ill! 


rolling  liim  helplessly.  The  forces  pressed  him 
deeper  and  deeper  until,  all  in  an  instant,  they 
thrust  him  aside.  An  up  current  caught  him 
and  brought  him,  gasping  and  spluttering,  to 
the  air.  He  perceived  with  joy  that  impene- 
trable darkness  no  longer  filled  the  cavern.  It 
was  dimly  lighted  from  the  outer  world. 

Peter  soon  cleared  himself  from  the  indraw 
of  the  cascade  which,  jumping  straight  down 
thirty  feet,  scarcely  disturbed  at  a  hundred 
feet  distance  the  long  pond  into  which  it 
fell.  The  boy  trod  water,  gazed,  and  listened 
amazed  to  the  crashing  of  thunder  that  rolled 
over  and  reverberated  in  the  high  vault. 

He  knew  a  rain  and  thunder  storm  had 
begun.  The  cavern,  during  intervals  between 
the  lightning  flashes  that  revealed  something 
of  its  extent,  was  dimly  lighted  from  a  narrow 
crack  or  fissure,  which  was  about  three  hundred 
yards  distant  from  and  directly  opposite  to  the 
cascade  down  which  Peter  had  dropped. 

This  crack,  starting  from  the  floor  of  rock, 
went  up  nearly  straight  two  hundred  feet  to 
a  hole  in  the  roof.  Peter,  swimming  now  in 
smooth  water,  thought  that  this  hole,  so  irreg- 


SMOKY  days:. 


77 


ular  in  shape,  looked  like  oae  that  would  bo 
seen  from  the  inside  of  his  father's  bam  if  some 
one  111  battered  in  its  gable  end. 

Above  this  hole  he  could  see  a  patch  of  sky 
and  storm-clouds  hurrying;.  They  were  dis- 
tinctly visible  —  he  saw  the  sky  through  the 
hole  as  one  might  see  it  from  a  place  two  hun- 
dred feet  down  a  slanting  tunnel.  And  the 
tall,  narrow  strip  of  sky  which  he  saw  through 
the  narrow  fissure  that  extended  from  the  cav- 
ern's floor  to  the  roof-hole  was  as  if  seen  from 
one  end  of  a  cathedral  aisle  tlirough  a  straight, 
narrow  crack  in  its  wall  of  masonry. 

Peter  swam  to  the  right  or  south  bank  of  the 
creek,  landed,  and  stared  all  around  the  cavern. 
The  ravine,  though  roofed,  was,  so  far  as  he 
could  distinguish  by  the  lightning's  gleams, 
much  such  a  ravine  as  he  and  Vincent  had  fol- 
lowed before  the  creek  became  subterranean. 

The  main  differeiices  he  noted  were  a  con- 
siderable increase  of  the  cavern's  width,  and 
its  intersection  by  another  ravine,  also  covered. 
Tlie  floor  of  this  intersecting  cavern  was  some 
sixty  feet  higher  than  where  Peter  stood.  Its 
roof  was  as  high  as  the  roof  of  rock  directly 


i; 


m 


78 


SMOKV  DAYS. 


ili 


> 


I  i' 


over  his  head.  Ho  saw  the  interso'  tinp  cave  as 
an  enormous  bhick  hole  high  up  hi  Vac  side  of 
the  wall. 

Evidently  the  creek  had  in  former  agea 
jumped  <lown  tlirouoh  that  black,  high  hole 
out  of  the  intersecting  ravine  into  that  from 
which  the  young  pioneer  looked  up.  lie 
could  see  the  discoloration  left  by  flowing 
water  on  tlie  now  dry  wall  of  rock. 

lie  could  see  liow  the  ancient  creek,  coming 
out  as  from  a  roofed  aisle,  had  descendi  d  in  '  wo 
steps,  the  lower  about  twenty,  the  upper  about 
forty  feet  in  height.  Even  when  the  lightning 
flashed  he  could  see  nothing  beyond  the  upper 
step.  There  absolute  darkness  was  back  i)f 
the  outline  of  the  high  hole  in  the  wall. 

Peter  turned  to  look  at  the  pond's  loft  or 
ooi-th  bank.  There  the  precipice  which  formed 
the  cave's  wall  rose  apparently  straight  up  out 
of  the  water. 

The  boy  stood  on  the  right  or  south  side  of 
the  pond  on  the  edge  of  a  l)ank  about  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  feet  wide,  which  sloped  gently 
to  the  foot  of  the  wall  out  of  which  the  creek 
had  formerly  jumped  down. 


WW 


SMOKV  DA 


71  > 


After  fitfiiing  round  till  1  Imd  seen  all  tliis, 
Peter  run,  as  if  alarmed  by  the  8oleiuni(\  of 
the  cave,  straij^lit  to  the  tall  fissure,  uliicli 
gave  a  dim  ligl.i  to  liis  path.  ITt  hoped  to 
get  through  the  crack. 

lie  reached  it,  hesitated  because  of  its  narrow- 
ness, then  endeavored  to  fo'-ee  his  body  through 
the  fissure.     Fancy  %'  to  squeeze  through 

between    two    towc;  walls   of    rough-faced 

stone  less  than  a  foot  ^.art!  Peter  crowded  in 
his  l»ead  and  right  shoulder.  There  he  stuck  — 
the  crack  was  too  narrow !  The  length  of  the 
passage  to  the  open  air  seemed  about  ten  feet. 

"  Vd  need  to  be  rolled  out  like  one  of 
mother's  lard  cakes,"  said  Peter  as  he  drew 
back,  faced  the  fissure  and  stood  gazing  at  the 
open  outside,  so  near  and  so  unattainable. 

The  liLdit  from  the  free,  outer  world  nerved 
and  encouraged  him.  lie  was  so  much  a  boy 
of  action  that  the  dangers  lie  had  passed  were 
scarcely  present  to  his  recollection.  Nor  did 
he  yet  wholly  com[)rehend  the  danger  in  which 
he  stood. 

His  main  thought  was  that  his  people  were 
liomelcss ;      lat  his  poor  mother  was  in  the  root- 


m 


MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION    TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


1150 


|56 

I.;. 


1 2.8 

m 

113.6 
114.0 


1.4 


2.5 
2.2 


2.0 


.8 


1.6 


^     .APPLIED  IIVMGE     Inc 


1653    East    Main    Street 
Roctiester,    New   York         14609 
(716)    482  -  0300  -  Phone 
(716)    288  -  5989  -  Fax 


USA 


80 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


m. 


Wyr  -  1 


r. 


house,  perhaps  dying ;  that  he  must  get  to  her ; 
that  freedom  was  witliin  ten  feet  of  him,  and 
that  ho  woukl  somehow  find  or  force  a  way- 
out. 

"If  I  had  that  surveyor  chap  to  help,"  said 
Peter  aloud,  and  looked  back  to  the  cascade. 

Would  Vincent  Bracy  come  througli  ?  Peter 
looked  back  at  the  dim  cascade  falling  as  from 
a  narrow,  high  gothic  window.  The  stream 
down  which  he  had  come  filled  the  whole  width 
of  the  aperture.  It  fell  as  unbroken  as  from 
the  end  of  a  flume.  Peter  could,  when  the 
lightning  flashed,  see  a  little  of  the  sloping  sur- 
face of  the  swift,  smooth  chute  that  had  borne 
him  away  from  his  comrade  of  tlie  night  of  fire. 

While  wondering  whether  Vincent  would 
tumble  over  the  cascade,  Peter  resumed  his 
study  of  the  interior. 

A  few  yards  north  of  him,  and  to  the  left 
side  of  the  fissure,  tlie  pond  narrowed  to  the 
ordinary  width  of  the  creek.  There  the  stream 
turned,  like  an  obtuse-angled  elbow-joint,  to 
the  left,  and  flowed  gently  on  into  complete 
darkness. 

Out  of  this  darkness  as  if  from   far  away 


\ 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


81 


came  a  strange  gurgling  and  washing  of  water, 
intermingled  with  a  sound  like  cloop  —  clooj)  — 
clooj)  —  such  as  water  often  makes  when  flowing 
a-wliirl  out  of  the  bottom  of  a  basin  beneath  a 
tap.  At  first  the  boy  was  almost  terrified  by  the 
sound,  —  it  so  much  resembled  the  gulpings  of 
some  enormous  animal.  But  soon  his  fears  de- 
parted and  hope  rose  high,  for  he  bethought  him 
that  the  noise  must  be  that  of  escaping  water. 

Not  even  by  the  lightning  flashes  could  Peter 
see  down  the  corridor  into  which  the  creek  thus 
turned,  and  ran,  and  clooped.  All  that  he  could 
make  out  was  that  this  corridor  or  ravine  was 
nearly  on  a  line  with  the  higher-floored  ravine 
out  of  which  the  creek  had  jumped  in  ancient 
days. 

The  three  corridors,  that  in  which  the  pond 
lay,  th.  ^own  which  the  dry,  high  old  channel 
came  from  the  south,  and  that  into  which  the 
creek  ran  on  a  northerly  course,  did  not  con- 
nect exactly  at  right  angles.  They  were  all 
roofed  at,  apparently,  pretty  much  the  same 
height  as  the  chute  which  terminated  in  the 
cascade  down  which  Peter  had  tumbled. 

The  stream  which  had  poured  for  ages  into 


■  -^ 


ft 


i^  ^ 


82 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


i4<. 


If 


the  cave,  by  either  the  old  or  the  new  channel, 
could  never  have  had  a  sufficient  exit  in  flood 
time.  From  the  hue  of  the  walls  up  to  a  line 
some  fifteen  feet  above  where  Peter  stood,  the 
water  seemed  to  have  accumulated  often  in  the 
cave,  swept  round  and  round,  and  at  the  same 
time  discharged  part  of  its  volume  througli  the 
narrow  fissure. 

Peter's  curiosity  to  know  the  cause  of  that 
strange  chop  —  chop  was  strong,  but  not  strong 
enough  to  lead  him  along  the  wall  in  the  dark 
to  what  might  prove  another  voyage  down  a 
slide  and  a  cascade.  But  he  determined  to 
make  the  exploration  by  torchlight. 

The  sloping  floor  of  the  covered  ravine's 
right  bank,  on  which  Peter  stood,  was  littered 
with  driftwood.  As  he  searched  amono-  it  for 
cedar,  the  easiest  of  woods  to  split  with  the 
hunting-knife  he  still  carried,  he  noticed  some 
entire  but  small  trunks  of  trees.  Then  i*-  came 
into  his  mind  th.at  lie  might  escape  by  the  old 
dry  channel,  if  only  he  could  find  a  pole  long 
enough  to  help  him  up  the  forty-fee t-higli  wall 
he  could  see  behinu  the  lower  step  cf  twenty 
feet. 


8M0EY  DAYS. 


83 


It  is  necessary  to  understand  clearly  the 
aspect  which  the  old  channel  presented  to  the 
boy.  Conceive,  then,  a  church  door  forty  feet 
wide  and  two  hundred  feet  high.  Conceive 
the  door  to  be  as  wide  as  the  corridc?  into 
which  it  offered  an  opening.  Conceive  two 
steps,  the  lower  of  twenty,  the  upper  of  forty 
feet  in  height,  barring  you  from  entering  the 
corridor.  Thus  did  the  old  channel,  its  mouth 
shining  high  and  black  above  Peter,  step  up 
from  the  cave  where  he  stood.  He  determined 
to  reach  that  high  up  old  channel  if  possible, 
for  he  b'^lieved  it  would  give  him  a  passage  to 
the  open  air. 

His  search  for  a  long  pole  was  rewarded,  after 
he  had  built  a  bright  fire  of  cedar.  Its  smoke 
drifted  in  various  directions  for  awhile,  some 
going  up  the  old  channel,  some  down  towards 
the  passage  whence  the  cloop  —  cloop  came. 
But  the  greater  cloud,  which  soon  drew  all  the 
smoke  with  it,  went  out  of  the  hole  in  the  roof 
at  the  top  of  the  narrow  fissure. 

The  young  pioneer  found  a  tall  cedar,  perfectly 
dry,  for  the  cavern  was  not  damp.  With  little 
difliculty  he  aucended  the  lower  or  twenty-fecl- 


K  n 


ii 


84 


S2I0KY  DAYS. 


m 


'l\: 


m 


1 


high  step  of  the  oitl  channel.  All  the  bark 
luiil  been  torn  from  his  cedar  as  it  came  down 
the  rapids  in  flood  time,  but  short  bits  of  the 
branches  remained.  These  assisted  him  to 
climb. 

He  had  reached  the  top  of  the  first  step,  and 
nearly  hauled  the  cedar  up  after  him  wlien  he 
bethoujrht  him  that  a  torch  would  be  needed 
after  he  should  have  attained  the  top  of  the 
next  or  forty-feet-high  step. 

So  Peter  descended  and  split  a  bundle  of 
cedar.  While  engaged  at  this  work  he  thought 
he  heard,  as  from  far  away,  sounds  as  of  snarl- 
ing and  yelling  wild  beasts.  He  listened  with 
cold  creeping  over  his  skin.  Were  wild  beasts 
coming  toward  him  ? 

But  the  sounds  ceased.  He  doubted  whether 
his  ears  had  not  deceived  him.  Only  the  swish- 
ing of  the  wind  away  off  in  the  old  channel  had, 
he  hoped,  reached  him.  Yet  he  felt  the  edge 
and  point  of  his  hunting-knife  after  he  had 
drawn  himself  again  up  the  lower  ledge. 

Soon  he  had  dragged  his  pole  to  the  upper 
step.  It  was  barely  long  enough  to  reach  the 
top.     Piling  many  broken  rocks  that  he  found 


fs!  f 


■'w:«WB*«^'^S>?.»1Sl«ie9?'--'':^'IWS«WBE«J>: 


R, 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


85 


1  M 


strewn  there  around  the  foot  of  the  pole  to  hold 
it  steady,  he  soon  had  his  head  above  the  upper 
ledge.  Lifting  himself  by  his  hands  and  elbows, 
he  stood  joyfully  on  the  floor  of  the  high  inter- 
secting ravine.  Sixty  feet  below  him  lay  the 
floor  of  the  main  cave,  the  pond  into  and  out  of 
which  the  creek  flowed,  and  the  dying  fire  that 
he  had  built  of  driftwood. 

Peter  whirled  the  small  torch  that  he  had 
carried  as  he  climbed.  From  it  he  lit  another, 
and  went  bravely  ahead.  For  a  hundred  yards 
the  floor  of  the  ancient  channel  was  of  gravel, 
sand,  and  bits  of  fallen  rock.  His  torches 
showed  him  nothing  more  except  the  towering 
and  jagged  walls.  He  Avondered  what  stealthy 
creatures,  far  up  there  in  the  blackness  of  dark- 
ness, might  not  be  watching  him.  F'^t  trusting 
his  torches  to  scare  away  any  wolves  or  bears 
that  the  forest  fire  might  have  driven  into  the 
cavern,  he  went  boldly  on.  Thunder  rolled 
more  frequently,  but  he  could  no  longer  see 
ahead  of  him  by  the  lightning  flashes  which  had 
illuminated  the  main  ravine  that  he  had  left. 

When  Peter  stopped  he  stopped  with  a  cry 
of    despair.     The    passage    was     blocked    by 


j!    1 

ii      ! 


80 


SMOhx^  DAYS. 


V 


Iff 


enormous  masses  of  rock.  The  foot  of  the  pile 
was  of  pieces  that  he  could  climb  over  for 
some  forty  feet.  But  there  the  pile,  consisting 
of  fragments  as  high  as  small  houses,  towered 
up  without  any  visib)e  end  into  the  blackness 
above. 

It  was  plain  that  part  of  the  roof  of  the 
ravine  had  fallen  in,  ages  and  ages  before. 
Peter  could  see  high  enough  to  understand 
that  his  pole  was  useless  here.  Hope  went  out 
of  his  heart  as  he  sat  down  and  contemplated 
the  enormous  confusion  which  blocked  his  way. 

He  seemed  to  see  himself  away  off  in  the 
clearing  by  the  Brazcau  and  here  in  the  dark- 
ness at  the  same  time.  He  seemed  to  see  the 
eyes  of  them  all  at  homo  staring  from  infinite 
distance  at  him  lost  in  the  barred  ravine. 

Then  the  events  of  the  yesterday  came  to 
his  mind  with  full  force.  He  fancied  the 
fire  sweeping  through  the  forest  toward  his 
mother's  home  —  ho  fancied  the  destruction 
of  the  cabin  and  the  precious  barn !  At  the 
thought  of  his  mother  lying  —  was  she  dead? 
—  in  the  root-house,  Peter's  despair  for  her 
roused  him  from  despair  for  himself. 


It 

nil 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


87 


"I  must  see  mother  again.  I  must  I  I  will  I" 
lie  thought,  and  rcmembcietl  again  the  clooj)  — 
clooping  sound  in  the  main  cave. 

"Where  the  creek  gets  out  I  can  get  out," 
he  said,  with  new  hope,  and  returned  with  dif- 
ficulty down  his  pole  to  the  lower  lloor  of  the 
vault.  Now  his  fire  of  light  wood  had  quite 
died  out.  To  renew  it  was  his  first  care. 
Then,  going  again  to  the  fissure,  he  stood  by  it, 
pondering  whether  he  could  not  get  through. 
He  bethought  him  of  how  he  had  seen  boulders 
broken  by  building  a  fire  round  them.  They 
sometimes  fell  apart  on  cooling.  Could  he  not 
reasonably  expect  that  a  fire  built  in  the  fissure 
would  cause  its  sides  to  scale  off  and  afford  him 
the  little  more  space  needed  to  give  him  escape. 

But  time?  The  plan  would  occupy  days. 
How  could  he  live  in  the  meantime  ? 

Peter  went  inquisitively  to  the  pond  and 
looked  in.  lie  whirled  his  torch  close  to  the 
water.  What  he  saw  must  have  pleased  him, 
for  he  actually  laughed  and  felt  in  his  trousers 
pocket  with  a  look  of  satisfaction.  His  hook 
v.ud  line  were  still  there. 

But  first  he  would  ascertain  where  the  creek 


I       *S 


Ijl 


I* 


c 


,lifl 


1: 


.1 


88 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


went  out  of  the  cave.  The  place  was  not  far 
away.  lie  soon  was  standing  hy  the  one  singu- 
lar feature  of  liis  prison.  Other  caves  have 
intersecting  vaults  far  more  amazing  than  those 
that  were  above  and  around  him.  But  perhaps 
no  body  of  water  elsewhere  has  so  strange  an 
escape  as  that  by  which  Lost  Creek  goes  its 
way  to  the  Brazeau. 

Where  the  end  of  the  north-going  ravine 
stopped  short,  the  creek,  after  gliding  smoothly 
down  the  south  edge  of  a  truly  circular  basin, 
ran  whirling  around  and  down  as  straight  as  if 
into  a  perpendicular  pipe.  The  water,  ridged 
and  streaked  with  bubbles  as  it  circled  into  the 
funnel,  was  clearly  illuminated  at  the  bottom. 

The  stream  went  down  like  water  out  of  a 
basin  under  a  tap.  It  might  drop  ten,  twenty, 
or  a  hundred  feet,  Peter  thought,  but  light  cer- 
tainly struck  into  it  not  very  far  below. 

As  the  water  gurgled  and  swashed  around 
and  around,  a  sucking  sound  sometimes  was 
followed  by  the  cloop  —  cloop — chop  that  had 
first  caught  his  attention. 

"  I  can  go  down  there,"  thought  Peter ;  "  go 
down  fast  enough  —  that's  sure." 


IF?-?' "' 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


89 


He  threw  in  a  piece  of  driftwood.  It  stood 
on  end  and  was  out  of  sight  in  an  instant. 

"Should  I  get  tore  up?"  thought  Peter. 
"  Or  shouUl  I  fall  far  enough  to  get  sniaslied  on 
the  bottom?  There's  plenty  of  room  — it's  fif- 
teen feet  acrost  at  the  funnel.  But  I  guess  I'd 
better  explore  all  around  before  I  risk  my  life 
in  such  a  whirling  hole." 

He  returned  along  the  high  tunnel  to  the 
main  cave.  Again  he  stopped  at  the  fissure. 
Blackness,  merely  punctuated  by  his  fire,  was 
behind  him  and  in  tliat  great  darkness  was  no 
sound  save  the  hoarse  voice  of  the  cascade. 

Standing  at  the  fissure  his  sense  of  imprison- 
ment deepened  as  he  turned  from  the  vastness, 
gloom,  and  roar  of  the  huge  vault  behind  him 
to  gaze  at  the  free  and  flying  clouds.  Inward 
draughts  of  air  brought  liira  the  smell  of  freshly 
wet  earth.  Heavy  rain  slanted  along,  scurry- 
ing into  mist  on  a  rocky  hillside  opposite  his 
jail.  Poplar-trees  bent  and  thrashed  there 
under  mighty  gusts  of  wind. 

As  the  boy  thought  of  the  burning  woods  and 
the  parched  country  and  his  father's  clearing, 
he  blessed  the  Lord  for  the  swift  rain  that  his 


^1 


■;,S'| 


ti-: 


00 


S.VOAT  DAYS. 


inothor  had  prayed  for  so  ofton.  IIo  could  hear 
her,  ho  faiieied,  as  l»o  fell  into  the  reverie  that 
such  rain  commonly  gives  —  he  could  hear  his 
mother's  piteous  prayei-,  as  if  tho  woe  of  it  were 
compelling  the  rain  to  descend. 

Then  he  ^xnlted  in  the  fresh  breeze  and  tho 
droi)s  that  were  blown  to  his  face.  That  joy 
vanished  as  ho  turned  to  the  pouring  eeho  of  his 
prison.  Now  he  could  not  see,  but  only  hear  the 
cascade,  so  dim  liad  tho  cave  become  l)y  tho  ces- 
sation of  lightning  and  tlio  darkening  of  tho 
hole  in  tho  roof.  Night  was  closing  in  upon  tho 
outer  world,  and  uttermost  darkness  succeeded. 

But  Peter's  fire  soon  burned  luigely.  After 
he  had  busied  himself  at  tho  water's  edge  for  half 
an  hour  he  heaped  u[)  piles  of  driftwood  by  the 
light  of  tho  flame.  Between  tho  throwino- 
down  and  going  forth  for  more  wood  he  stood 
listening  and  looking  into  the  high  portal  of 
the  south,  or  old  channel  ravine. 

Peter  thought  as  the  night  went  on  that  he 
heard  again  tho  sounds  of  wild  animals  that  he 
had  fancied  before.  Were  fierce  eyes  glaring 
at  him  from  the  great  pile  of  fallen  rocks  that 
had  barred  him  from  escape?     Were  soft  feet 


w 


8M0Ky  DAYS. 


91 


sheathing  cruel  claws   coining  sllontly  toward 
him  ? 

Tho  night  drew  on  toward  dawn,  and  intenser 
darkness  ir\.vailetl  in  the  cave.  At  longer 
intervals  thunder  lattled  through  the  cavern. 
The  lightning  that  had  preceded  mii,Mit  have 
revealed,  to  any  eye  looking  down  from  the 
hole  in  the  cave's  gal)le,  the  figure  of  a  boy 
sleeping  in  the  space  between  four  guardian 
fires  tliat  slowlv  waned  to  smouldering  l)rands. 

The  eye  looking  down  would  also  have  seen 
tho  water  of  a  rapidly  rising  creek  lapping  on 
the  coals  of  the  most  northerly  fire,  and  si/zling 
as  it  extinguished  them.  Still  Peter  Armstrong 
slept  profoundly.  lie  had  iu)t  reckoned  that 
the  rain  now  pouring  down  outside,  would  raise 
the  water  in  the  cave. 

Inch  by  inch  its  level  ascended.  Soon  the 
brands  of  the  extinguished  fire  were  afloat  and 
drifting  toward  the  whirlpool.  Even  when  tho 
water  had  encroached  upon  the  two  fires  further 
in,  the  boy  still  slept.  His  cowhide  boots  were 
lapped  by  the  rising  Hood,  and  yet  he  lay  quiet 

as  a  log. 

Down  from  the  cascade  poured  a  larger  vol- 


h 


Ill 


I  a- 

I 


92 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


ume.  Driftwood  came  tumbling  with  it.  Lost 
Creek  was  in  half  flood  with  the  steady  and 
great  rain.  No  longer  could  the  chop  —  chop 
have  been  heard  by  any  one  in  the  cave,  for  the 
funnel  was  gorged  too  full. 

By  morning  neither  flame  nor  coal  of  Peter's 
fires  could  have  been  seen  from  above.  Nor  was 
there  any  sign  of  Peter  Armstrong  near  the  dis- 
persed ashes  of  those  inner  fires  that  had  not 
been  overflowed  by  the  rising  stream.  The 
cave's  floor  was  nearly  covered  by  a  tumult  of 
whirling  water,  and  no  sign  of  Peter's  tenancy 
remained  except  the  relics  of  his  trout  supper 
and  the  ashes  and  dead  brands  of  the  most 
inward  of  the  fires  that  he  had  built  to  guard 
his  life  from  the  wild  beasts  of  the  cavern. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


VINCENT   DOWN  THE  CHUTE. 

At  noon  on  the  third  day,  long  before  Mrs. 
Armstrong  had  received  Vincent  Bracy's  letter, 
Vincent  stood,  with  one  man,  at  the  place  where 
Peter  had  disappeared.  Both  carried  camp  lan- 
terns with  reflectors. 

"Grosbois,"  said   Vincent,    "the   creek    has 
risen  a  good  deal  here  since  yesterday." 
"  Yesseh  !     Baptcme  —  it's  de  rain." 
"Do  you  hear  that  pouring  sound?" 
"Yesseh  —  dass  a  fall  down  dere,  'way  far. 
Can't  be  ver'  high  —  no  sir,  not  ver'  big  fall." 
"No.     I  dare  say  the  chute  runs  into  deep 
water.    That  would  account  for  the  sound,  eh  ?  " 
"Mebby.     I  don't  know,  sir,  for  sure." 
"How  would  you  like  to  go  down'!*" 
"  Sapree  !  Not  for  all  de  money  in  de  Banque 
du  Peuple.^^ 

Vincent  had  brought  ten  men  with  him  from 

93 


94 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


I 


i: 
I] 


i 


i 


.'I  ■ 
^1  i 


camp.  Eight  were  now  at  the  Brazeau  end  of 
the  cave  looking  for  the  longest  tree  they  conld 
hope  to  carry  into  the  curved  ravine. 

Early  in  the  morning  they  liad  found  the 
channel  by  which  Lost  Creek  discharged  from 
the  cave  to  the  Brazeau.  Looking  into  an 
ii  regularly -walled,  tunnel -like  passage  about 
twenty  feet  high,  they  saw  how  the  water  came 
whirling  down  straigJit  from  the  doopintj  funnel 
that  Peter  had  seen  from  inside  tlie  cave. 

After  dropping  into  a  deep,  narrow  basin  it 
spread  wide  and  shallow  over  the  level  rock 
where  the  search  party  were,  gathered  again  into 
a  narrow  brook,  and  prattled  on  gently  to  the 
Big  Brazeau  lliver,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant. 
It  seemed  clear  to  them  that  Peter's  body,  if 
he  had  been  carried  down  the  funnel,  would  have 
been  found  on  the  shallows,  where  sticks  that 
had  descended  were  widely  strown.  Between 
and  under  these  sticks  the  water  ran.  Vin- 
cent's inference  that  Petcn-  had  not  been  car- 
ried down  but  was  alive  within  the  cave  looked 
reasonable. 

He  took  his  men  into  the  passage  whence   • 
he  had  escaped,  and  soon  found  the  south  side 


"  ft 
'  81- 


"Viiii/seBmsr^:vf?f*mrmm 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


95 


IM 


of  the  enormous  barrier  of  fallen  rocks  whose 
north  side  had  blocked  Peter's  way  out  the 
day  before.  They  stood  opposite  where  Peter 
had  stood,  and  found  that  end  as  impracticable 
as  he  had  found  the  other. 

Vincent  sent  one  man  to  camp  with  a  note 
to  the  chief  engineer.  With  himself  he  kept 
old  Grosbois.  He  ordered  the  eight  others  to 
ascend  the  Hump,  cut  down  one  of  the  tallest 
pines  growing  there,  and  wait  for  the  chief 
engineer  to  arrive  with  ropes  and  the  rest  of 
the  men,  twenty-two  in  number.  Then  he  and 
Grosbois  walked  away  through  the  cave  to  the 
upper  entrance  with  the  two  camp  lanterns. 

An  hour  passed.  The  men  had  felled  a 
great  tree,  and  it  lay  stripped  on  the  upper 
plateau.  After  clearing  away  the  branches  the 
gang  found  they  could  not  stir  the  trunk. 
They  went  below  to  the  cave  that  they  might 
gain  shelter  from  the  incessant  rain.  There 
they  lighted  a  fire  and  waited. 

Another  hour  passed.  Grosbois  now  sat  with 
his  comrades  by  the  fire.  He  had  returned  to 
the  party  without  Vincent  Bracy.  Sometimes 
the  superstitious  men  turned  their  heads  and 


w, 


\i 


f.i 


I  i;;- 

m 


:■*     ■!  "i 


06 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


peered  into  the  blackness  of  the  cave.  They 
half-expected  to  see  Vincent's  ghost  coming 
toward  them. 

Another  hour  had  nearly  passed  when  the 
chief  engineer  and  his  twenty-two  men  came 
into  the  cave  from  the  Brazeau  side. 

"Where's  Mr.  Bracy?"  cried  the  chief. 

"  Ah,  M'sieu,  Mr.  Bracy's  gone,"  said  Gros- 
bois,  almost  crying. 

"Gone?" 

"Yesseh  —  gone  for  sure." 

"Gone  where?" 

"Down  de  chute." 

"What  chute?" 

"Down  where  he  see  dat  boy  go  yesterday 
—  de  boy  what  he's  tell  us  about  last  night." 

"  You  are  out  of  your  senses,  Grosbois." 

"  No,  sir,  I  hain't  out  of  no  senses  —  for  sure, 
I  wish  I  was.  But  I'll  toll  de  trut'.  Mr. 
Bracy  he's  say  to  me,  '  Mebby  Peter  is  starved 
before  we  find  him.'  He  say,  '  Mebby  we  don't 
get  up  in  dere  all  day,  mebby  not  all  to- 
morrow.' He's  say,  '  Mebby  dere  hain't  no  way 
to  get  to  de  boy  except  only  one  way.' " 

"Go  on  — what  did  he  do?" 


*<v«iogB«aifr>tois««»rta«iii8fi;i>*««v 


m 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


97 


"  He  make  me  help  Inm  for  cut  off  a  big  chunk 
off  one  hollow  cedar.  He  put  his  hax  in  de  hol- 
low, an'  he  put  in  a  piece  of  rope,  and  some 
pork  and  biscuit,  and  he  put  in  his  pistol,  and 
his  lantern.  Den  he  plug  up  de  two  end.  An' 
he  say  to  me,  'Grosbois,  you  tell  'em  to  keep 
climbing  up  de  ole  channel  back  dere.  Good- 
bye, Grosbois,'  —  and  dat's  all." 

"But  where  did  he  go?" 

"M'sieu,  in  two  seconds  he's  away  down  de 
black  chute ! " 

"In  the  water?" 

"Yesseh,  in  de  water  —  straddle  on  de  log." 

"Vincent  must  have  gone  crazy." 

"  He  hain't  look  crazy,"  said  Grosbois.  "  He's 
look  like  he's  see  something  bad  what  hain't 
scare  him  one  bit.  He's  say,  '  Good-bye,  Gros- 
bois,' an'  he's  make  me  a  bow  same  as  he's 
always  polite,  and  he's  smile,  easy,  easy. 
Den's  he's  roll  his  log  in  before  I  b'leeve  he's 
goin'  to   be   so  wild,  and  I  don't  see   him  no 


more 


»> 


"Up  with  you  —  up  for  the  tree  I"  cried  the 
chief.  "Not  you,  Grosbois  —  all  the  rest. 
Grosbois,  you  go  down  to  the  outlet  and  watch 


ill 


m 


I 


98 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


U". 


1 

m 


n 


.vVS 


for  the  body.     Little  Vincent  Bracy  1     My  life 
and  soul  —  what  will  his  father  say!" 

The  party  were  climbing  the  hill  by  various 
paths  to  get  the  long  tree  when  one  of  them 
stopped,  held  up  his  hand,  and  looked  round 
fearfully  at  those  nearest  him." 

"I  hear  Mr.  Bracy's  ghost,"  he  said. 
The  startled  men  stood  still,  listening.     All 
now  hearl  the  faint  call.     As  from  the  bowels 
of  the  earth  the  cry  floated  up:  — 
"  Hello  !  Hello  !  Hello  !  " 
"  He's  alive,  wherever  he  is,"  cried  the  chief, 
arriving.      "He's   shouting    in   the  hope  he'll 
be  heard.    Hello!    Bracy!    Vincent!    Hello!" 
Still  Vincent's  voice  ascended  monotonously. 
''Hello!   Hello!    Hello!''  at  intervals  of  some 
seconds. 

"Yell  all  together!"  cried  the  chief  to  the 
men,  who  were  coming  from  all  directions. 
They  shouted  and  listened  again.  And  again 
the  far  voice  cried,  ''Hello!  Hello!''  with  the 
same  tones  and  intervals  as  before. 

"It's  from  over  there.  And  there's  smoke 
coming  up,"  said  one. 

They  approached  the  edge  of  the  plateau  and 


m 


m 


m 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


99 


AM 


looked  down  —  down  the  hole  that  Peter  had 
seen  high  up  —  the  hole  in  which  the  tall  fis- 
sure ended. 

"  Why,  here  is  smoke.  And  here's  a  hole," 
cried  the  chief,  getting  down  on  his  hands  and 
knees.  "  He  must  be  down  here.  Yes  I  Vin- 
cent!    Hello!" 

"  Hello  yourself,  chief ! " 

"  You're  alive  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     All  alive." 

"Hurt?" 

"  No  —  as  sound  as  a  nut." 

"  Had  a  rough  passage  ?  " 

"  Pretty  rough,  sir.     But  I'm  not  hurt." 

Down  by  a  bright  fire  they  saw  Vincent 
Bracy  standing  alone.  He  looked  up  at  the 
faces  crowding  round  the  hole  in  which  the  fis- 
sure terminated. 

"  Have  you  the  ropes  there  ?  "  he  shouted. 

"Go  down  for  the  ropes,"  cried  the  chief 
engineer,  and  away  went  four  men. 

"  Rope  is  coming,  Vincent.  Keep  your  heart 
up." 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,  sir." 

"  Where's  the  Armstrong  boy  ?  " 


m 


& 


U 


''  7. 1 


vmm 

m 

PI 
m 

mi 


100 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


W- 


m 


If- 
f  ■ 

i: 


i 


"  Gone.     He  was  here  this  morning." 

"  How  do  you  know  'i  " 

"The  rock  under  his  dead  fire  was  quite 
warm." 

"Where's  he  gone?  Have  the  bears  got 
him?" 

"  No  sign  of  it." 

"  What's  become  of  him,  then  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  he  went  down  the  creek  before  the 
water  rose  in  here." 

"  But  you  saw  no  sign  of  him  down  there  ?  " 

"Better  send  Grosbois  to  look  for  his  trail, 
sir.     Perhaps  he  got  out  alive." 

"  Grosbois  is  down  there  now." 

"Hey,  Grosbois!  Grosbois!"  shouted  the 
chief.  But  no  answer  came.  Grosbois  had 
gone  out  of  hearing. 

"Is  the  water  rising,  Vincent?" 

"Yes.    It's  risen   three  inches  since   I  got 

here.'' 

The  pond  within  the  cave  now  presented  the 
aspect  of  a  stream  incessantly  returning  on 
itself  by  an  eddy  up  one  bank  and  a  current 
down  the  other. 

Vincent  could  not  reach  the  fissure  without 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


101 


wading.  From  that  crack  flowed  a  rivulet  a 
foot  deep.  No  sound  except  tlie  surging  of  a 
whirlpool  came  from  the  corridor  wliere  Peter 
had  heard  the  cloup  —  clooping  sound. 

"Young  Armstrong  must  have   been  starv- 
ing ! "  shouted  the  chief. 

"  No,  sir.  He  seems  to  have  lived  on  the  fat 
of  the  water." 

"Fat  of  the  water?" 

"Yes;  trout.  Look  here!"  Vincent  held 
up  two  fish. 

"How  could  ho  catch  them?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  But  he  certainly 
did.  The  place  is  all  heads  and  tails.  I 
shouldn't  have  supposed  any  fellow  could  eat 
so  many  trout  in  the  time.  He  was  here  only 
a  day  altogether." 

"Can    you    get    straight    under    tiiis    hole, 

Vincent?" 

"  Yes.     I  waded  down  to  the  crack  a  while 

ago." 

"  Well,  the  ropes  are  coming." 

Vincent  waded  down  the  Assure  and  stood. 
In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  the  rope  had 
descended,  Vincent  had  placed  the  loop  under 


m 


i 


\  A 


%h 


m 


m 
m 

i 


;  :i| 


ll< 


102 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


liis  sliouklers,  and  tlio  cxultin*,'  men  had  drawn 
him  safely  up.  Ttieu  the  whole  party  walked 
down  to  the  whirling  outlet. 

"  It's  impossible  young  Armstrong  could  have 
come  through  hero  alive,"  said  the  chief,  look- 
ing into  the  tunnel  out  of  which  the  rising 
water  rushed. 

"  There  wasn't  so  big  a  volume  this  morning 
early  wlicn  we  were  here  before,"  said  Vincent. 
''And  Peter  must  have  comedown  before  that."' 

"  You  seem  very  sure  he  did  come  down." 

"  Well,  sir,  so  I  am.  It's  what  I  should  have 
done  myself  in  the  circumstances.  I  was  begin- 
ning to  think  of  it  when  you  answered  my 
call." 

"  Lucky  you  didn't.  Perhaps  you  are  right. 
l)Ut  it's  surprising  that  he  took  the  risk  when 
he  had  j^lenty  to  eat." 

"You  forget  how  alarmed  he  was  about  his 
mother.  Besides,  he  probably  thought  I  had 
been  lost,  and  he  had  no  hope  of  a  rescue." 

"  But  what  can  have  become  of  him  if  he  got 
out  here  ?  " 

"  He  would  make  for  home  up  the  river." 

"  Well,  I  hope  your  theory  is  sound,"  said  the 


^Ai 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


lo;j 


chief.     "  What's  bccomo  of  Grosbois,  I  wonder? 
Grosbois  !     (iioHbois  1 "  ho  shouted. 

But  Grosbois  was  far  away,  following  what 
ho  thought  a  trail  through  the  woods.  It  took 
him  up  the  river.  Meantime  another  voyageur 
had  pieked  up  the  trail  of  Grosbois  and  brought 
tlie  news  back  to  the  cliief. 

"lie  must  have  found  Peter  or  his  track," 
said  Vincent.  "I'll  follow,  too,  sir,  if  you'll 
allow  me.  I  have  to  go  to  Kelly's  Crossing, 
anyway,  and  I  may  as  well  try  to  get  to  the 
Armstrongs'  to-night." 

About  three  o'clock  that  afternoon  Mary 
Armstrong  was  giving  Eliza  Jane  and  Ann 
Susan  a  "  piece."  She  stood  with  her  back  to 
the  cabin  door,  when  Ann  Susan  suddenly  cried, 
"  Peter  !  Peter !  "  and  held  out  her  hands. 
"Peter's  here!"  cried  Eliza  Jane,  coolly. 
Uiivy  turned.  Peter,  indeed,  staggai'cd  up 
the  path.  His  face  was  covered  with  dry  blood 
from  many  scratches,  his  shirt  and  trousei-s 
were  in  strips,  his  feet  bare  and  bleeding. 

"  Mother !  It  is  Peter !  Peter's  come  back  I 
He's  not  dead  at  all,"  cried  Mary,  running  out 
into  her  brother's  arms. 


II 


;:i 


c-aHitiH^sadlUllr 


) 


104 


SMOIiV   DAY'S. 


Mrs.  Armstrong  tottered  to  her  feet. 

"Is  moUier  duaJ?  Where  is  slie?"  cried 
Petor,  as  ho  caught  siglit  of  Mary. 

"  Why,  mother  !  Ain't  you  ghid  to  see  mo  ?  " 
he  said,  liohling  her  in  his  arms  a  minute  Liter. 
She  was  weeping  as  she  clung  to  him. 

"Oh  Peter,  Peter,  Peter,  1  thuuglit  you  was 
burned  to  death  I "  was  all  she  could  say. 

"There,  mothorl  there,  mother!  Pm  all 
right.  Only  turc  up  a  little,  running  through 
the  woods.  Pve  been  travellin'  since  daylight, 
and  I  lost  my  boots  out  of  my  hand  coming 
down  a  wliirlpool  out  of  a  cave,  and  I  couldn't 
find  them  amongst  the  driftwood  below.  I  was 
in  too  big  a  hurry.  I  was  most  scared  to  death 
for  fear  you  wouldn't  be  here.  My!  it  was 
good  to  see  the  barn  and  house  standin'.  I 
come  up  along  the  river  till  about  two  hours 
ago.  Then  I  worked  up  top  of  the  Hump  for 
easier  walkin'.     Where's  father?" 

"  A  boy  came  for  him.  He  went  down  river 
two  hours  ago  to  look  for  you." 

"  I'd  have  met  him,  then,  if  I'd  kept  straight 
on.     Maybe  he'd  miss  my  track  up  the  Hump." 

But  the  father  liad  not  missed  it,  for  he  had 


*K 


8^(0KY  DAYS. 


105 


r 


met  GroHw.is,  who  huld  to  Peter's  trail  like  a 
hound  lo  the  slot  of  a  deer.  Scarcely  had  the 
boy  entennl  the  cabin  when  David  Armstrong 
and  the  voyageur  came  down  the  Hump's  side. 
The  father,  swept  b}  lus  emotion  beyond  self- 
control,  caught  Peter  in  h\s  arms. 

uOod  — God  — oh  God"  cried  Dave  Arm- 
strong,  "you've  give  me  ick  my  bov.  Oh 
God,  just  see  if  I  ain      i  better  man  f  >m  this 

out." 

Eliza  Jane  and  Ann  Susan  i^arcd,  weeping  at 
the  top  of  their  lungs  becarse  mother  and  Mary 
were  crying,  and  father  t         ig  so  loudly. 

Ann  Susan,  stopping  su       nly,  said  decidedly, 

"  I  yant  Pete ! " 

•'  Peter's  dead,  and  he's  cc  oe  back,"  said  Eliza 

Jane. 

'•  Take  them,  Peter,"  said  *>  mother  ;  "  take 
them.     They've  been  hanke.     g  after  you  most 

as  bad  as  me." 

He  lifted  the  little  ones  in  1  is  arms.  They 
drew  back  from  his  dirty  and  bh    ly  face.   Peter 

laugled. 

" Mother,"  said  he,  "I  didn't  fetch  you  your 

tea." 


I 


H 


v    ■?  . 


106 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


"  That  young  Mr.  Bracy  sent  some  up  by  the 
messenger,  Peter." 

"  Mr.  Bracy  ?  oh,  Vincent,"  said  Peter.  "  He 
got  out  of  the  cave,  then  ?  I  was  planning  to 
start  back  and  find  him  !  " 

"  Guess  what  tliis  man  says  he  did  this  morn- 
ing, Peter,"  said  the  pioneer,  turning  to  Grosbois. 
"  lie  went  down  that  clmte  in  the  cave  after  you." 

"  Yesseh,  I  see  him  myse'f,"  said  Grosbois. 

"Well,  ain't  he  a  good  one !"  said  Peter. 
"  Why,  I  wouldn't  have  gone  down  there  this 
morning  for  the  price  of  the  hay.  The  creek 
was  beginning  to  rise  before  I  Avent  out.  But 
say  !     Is  Vincent  lost  like  I  was  ?  " 

"  No.  Just  as  T  started  on  your  trail  I  heard 
them  yellin'  they  found  liim  safe,"  said  Grosbois. 

Peter  had  hardly  eaten  his  supper  that  even- 
ing when  Vincent  arrived. 

"  Peter ! " 

"  Vincent ! "     The  boys  shook  hands. 

"  You  went  into  the  chute  after  me,"  saitl 
Peter,  choking.  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you 
keepin'  me  goin',  I'd  'a'  died  in  the  fire  by 
the  creek  —  so  I  would,  and  —  " 

"  Oh,  please  don't,"  interrupted  Vincent. 


SMOKY  DAYS. 


107 


«  And  I'd  been  abusin'  you,"  said  Peter.  "  I'd 
said  you  was  a  dood  ! " 

"Deuce  you  did!  Well,  I  dare  say  I  am. 
But  what  matter  ?  It's  not  really  a  crime,  don't 
you  know.  There's  just  one  thing  I  want  you 
to  tell  me,  Peter.  How  did  you  catch  those 
trout  in  the  cave?" 

Peter  pulled  a  fish-line  with  a  hook  on  it 
from  his  pocket. 

"  Forgot  I  had  it  for  a  long  time  in  there,"  he 
said.  "  Don't  you  mind  I  said  I  had  a  hook  and 
line  that  time  we  was  kickiu'  the  trout  out  of 
the  creek  ?  " 

"  But  what  bait  did  you  use  ?  " 

"Bait?  They  didn't  want  no  better  than  a 
bare  hook." 

You  may  be  glad  to  learn  that  David  Arm- 
strong's hay  sold  for  ninety  dollars  a  ton  that 
winter.  The  comfortable  situation  into  whicli 
this  put  the  pioneer  family  gave  Mrs.  Armstrong 
a  new  lease  of  life,  and  Peter  three  winters' 
schooling  in  the  settlements.  There  he  learned 
so  much  that  he  is  able  to  transact  the  business 
of  the  large  lumbering  interest  which  he  has 
long  since  acquired. 


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108 


SMOKY  DATS. 


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Peter  Armstrong  is  worth  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars to  Vincent  Bracy's  one,  but  they  are  fast 
iriends,  and  agree  that  Mr.  Bracy's  comparative 
lack  of  fortune  is  due  to  his  having  practised  a 
profession  instead  of  going  into  business. 


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